


Under The Wolf Moon

by zmalikd



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Depression, M/M, Past Character Death, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zmalikd/pseuds/zmalikd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has tasted pain his whole life; a connoisseur of broken hearts. Pain is all he's ever had. Except now, there's the wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> [fic mix](https://8tracks.com/d3bonair/of-darkness-i-became).
> 
> *triggers ahead.

_You have played,_  
  
 _(I think)_  
 _And broke the toys you were fondest of,_  
 _And are a little tired now;_  
 _Tired of things that break, and—_  
 _Just tired._  
 _So am I._

_\- e. e. cummings  
_

1 A.M., Thursday.

When Louis was twelve, and his father was still alive, they would go on night drives together. His dad had been a short man with sandy brown hair, thinning by the age of thirty. He’d always wear baseball caps to hide his bald spot, something Louis’ mom said only caused him to lose _more_ hair. _You’ll rub the rest of it off with that hat_ , she would say. His dad never listened, though. He wore his cap to the very day he died.

It happened on New Years, 2006. Louis was fourteen and in his first year of high school, and with it came expectations and the excitement of finding your passion. School, back then, was his main priority; good grades meant a future, and he had no problems with keeping his report cards in line. Almost straight A’s by the end of the first semester and boy, was he proud of himself. He had brought home the piece of paper and watched as his mother’s eyes filled with tears of joy, telling him that he’d make it far in life. He believed her. That was two weeks before the crash: a hit and run that left his dad’s body in shambles, ribs penetrating his lungs, drowning in his own blood. When he had come stumbling home with blood on his clothes and teeth stained red, Louis’ mom had tried to hide him. She kept saying _it’s okay. It’s okay, honey go to your room_. But Louis wasn’t a kid anymore. He knew what death was, and he knew a mouthful of blood wasn’t a good sign.

His dad died that morning at 11:52 A.M. The police said that the driver must have been drunk from the night before. They said these words and had expected Louis and his mother to accept them. That’s it. A hit and run by some drunk asshole who didn’t see the middle-aged man on his afternoon walk. It was the new year and Louis was ringing it in with a mother who didn’t sleep anymore and nightmares of his father bathed in red. The police did nothing about it.

1:10 A.M., Thursday.

It was five years later, Louis nineteen and out of high school—his grades had floundered—when his mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She had never smoked a day in her life, but apparently secondhand really does affect the innocent. The doctors assumed it was due to her parents’ constant smoking indoors when she was growing up, or it could be because she worked in one of the only business firms that allowed indoor smoking anymore. Either way, she had cancer, but she fought it. She never rolled over and played dead. She picked up her life and used the rest of her time for good.

Louis kept a close eye on her, always making sure that she was taking her meds, going to her doctor appointments. She didn’t want to do chemo, not for the first year of it. But soon the pain was too unbearable and he found himself holding her hand whilst doctors poked her with needles, drawing blood, putting fluids in her. She lost most of her hair and half of her body weight.

By the time Louis was twenty-two and had finally started college—a small community school that didn’t require a perfect GPA—his mom was bed ridden. She didn’t clean anymore, didn’t eat. She would watch daytime television and Judge Judy until her eyes were too dry to stay open. Too many nights Louis would sit by her bed, or curled up next to her, inhaling the faint smell of her old perfume—the one his father would get her each Christmas—and he’d tell her made-up stories about queens and dragons. She had always loved fantasy, had spent much of her time reading J.R.R. Tolkien and Christopher Paolini. It was her guilty pleasure and Louis took pride in how much she loved his stories. _You should be a writer_ , she’d say. He’d only laugh, kiss her forehead and tell her goodnight.

She died six months later in a hospital bed, her very first copy of Eragon frayed and torn from years of use sat on the side table, a coffee ring embedded in the cover. She died with her bones brittle and frail, had died with a broken heart and empty eyes.

That was exactly one week ago to the day, and now Louis sat in his idling car with the engine still on, the radio turned down. The headlights shined on a dirt trail, the same trail his father would follow on their night rides.

1:15 A.M., Thursday.

Growing up, Louis never had many friends. So, thinking now, he wondered: who would miss him? Who did he have left? Adrien was in college, a big university out in Brooklyn. He hadn’t been back to Maine in over a year, but he still wrote every now and again. Sometimes he’d call. Louis didn’t think Adrien would miss him. Would Adrien even notice? Would anyone?

It was a slow process as Louis eased his foot on the gas pedal, his hand moving blindly to the gearshift. If you stick to the trail, you’ll find your way out of the woods and back to the main road. It’s a short drive, but a long walk. Louis knew, because his dad told him, that if you veer off the main trail, you’ll find yourself looking down off a cliff, one that hangs right over the Atlantic. He had even taken Louis there one time, salt high in the air, making Louis’ eyes burn. It was a beautiful sight. It was peaceful. Louis wanted peace.

With his jaw clenched and angry tears in his eyes, Louis shifted into drive, taking his foot off the brake and placing it on the gas. He balled his hands into fists around the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, his knuckles turning white. The engine revved, tires rolling on gravel. He pushed down on the gas, eyes unblinking. If he stayed to the trail…but if he veered off…

He cranked the wheel to the left, tires leaving the man-made tracks. Flying freely, he drove, pushing past 30…40…45. The trees turned to blurs, rocks hitting the windshield, leaving smalls cracks in their wake. He pressed on. 50…55…

Thoughts of his mother, dying and ghastly pale; his dad with blood in his mouth. He had no one left. He didn’t even have himself.

Thinking back now, Louis’ sure if his vision hadn’t been distorted by the tears in his eyes, maybe he would have seen the animal in the road with the brightly glowing brown eyes. Maybe he would have seen its shape in the night, illuminated by his headlights. He would have had time to stop. But he didn’t, not until this animal—a burly black dog, too big to be in a preserve—was only inches away, its face coming closer, its eyes filled with confusion and fear. Louis cried out, both feet slamming on the brakes. If he had been on a street, the rubber of the tires would have been able to grip the asphalt and tar, able to _possibly_ stop the vehicle without rolling, but with dirt under his wheels and an animal smashed into his front bumper, there’s no hope.

A loud, sickening _crack_ sounded through the trees as the animal’s body hit Louis’ car—but what happened then isn’t something anyone would anticipate. As if he had hit a brick wall rather than something made of flesh, Louis’ bumper caved in on itself, the front of his car twisted and dented. It rolled, Louis inside, seat belt clattering uselessly against the window. The windshield shattered, and Louis would later thank God that he didn’t fly through it. Instead, he was pinned under with his head throbbing and warm blood running down his sides.

He panicked, as anyone would, adrenaline spiking through his body. Shimmying his way out of the wreck, his vision going in and out, black blotches dancing in front of him. All he could think was _the dog, the dog._ There’s enough death in the world without his help, and maybe that’s why he crawled on his hands and knees away from the wreckage, the taste of iron in his mouth, moving at a speed that he didn’t know he had left in him. When he looked back, looked to where the dog _should_ be, he found nothing.

Rustling leaves to his left, Louis turned towards the intrusion. Standing cautiously with its tailed tucked between its legs was the black dog—only it wasn’t a dog at all, but a wolf, and there were two others behind it. It just stood there, staring down at Louis as if examining him. When it took a step forward, the other wolves snarled, lips pulled back from their teeth. There was a white one and a brown one—neither as large as the black. With its head ducked down, nose to the dirt, the black wolf pressed on, walking slowly, never minding the two behind it.

Louis’ thought process had dwindled down to a single plea: _don’t eat me. For the love of God, don’t fucking eat me_. And as his head pounded harder, his fingers twitching, pain splicing through his body, Louis’ vision began to give away. His eyes going in and out, darkness taking over, and the last sight he saw wasn’t that of a wolf, but a pair of human legs walking towards him.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a guest room, Louis’ sure of it. The unlit candles on the side tables are a dead giveaway as well as the plain, white drapes that hang over the windows. There’s a thin sheet of dust along the dresser, on the television; it’s obvious no one has been in this room for some time. Until now, that is.

Louis untangles his body from the blankets, ignoring the reddened stains left on the white sheets. His entire left side is in agony, his ribs feeling bruised and cracked as he moves. He’s sure if he was in a better state of mind, one that wasn’t fogged over by terrible sleep and a migraine, he would be freaking out right about now. It’s not every day that you wake up in the middle of some extravagant looking room with cathedral-like ceilings, the air smelling like cranberries and melon—no. It’s not normal, but Louis’ in too much pain to acknowledge anything other than his black and blue arms.

He’s fairly certain that he remembers the night before. There had been an animal—a dog, he thinks—and his car had been crashed. _He_ crashed it. Shame and regret nestle their way into the very core of his body as he walks at a slow and steady pace to the bedroom door, hand gripping his left arm to stop it from swaying at his side. Every fiber of his being aches, from his ears to his jaw, to his shoulders and his back. It’s a wonder that he isn’t dead, or maybe he is. He can’t fucking tell.

Sticking his head out of the room, Louis calls out a weak, “Hello?” his voice echoing through the long hallway set out in front of him. The hardwood floor is cold beneath his bare feet as he scuffles out, shutting the door behind himself. There’s a maroon rug laid out by a set of spiral stairs that lead down into the rest of the house. Surely someone’s down there. The house just can’t be _empty_.

He takes each step carefully, keeping his hands on the railing, leaning his weight off of his legs as much as possible. At the bottom, he finds a spacious living room with no television, but at least four couches. There’s an old fashioned record player in the far corner that looks brand new. The house, though beautiful, reminds Louis of something his grandparents would have lived in if they were alive. It’s modern, but there’s an old feel to it; something classic about it.

He sounds off another, “Hello?” receiving nothing.

There are a handful of doors in front of him, all leading in separate ways. The first one, he finds, is a coat closet filled with boxes rather than clothes. Next to it is a door that leads into the kitchen, a polished, pearly white room with a gas stove and bottles of wine on the counters. Old people, he thinks. Definitely old people.

“Anyone here?” he tries one last time, unsurprised when nothing breaks the silence around him. It’s another two attempts at opening doors before Louis finds one that actually leads to the outside. He pats his pockets, feeling for his keys. When the soft jangle of metal reaches his ears, he smiles to himself, making his way across the yard.

From the front porch, he can see a black iron gate lining the property. It has sharpened tips, as if warning anyone who would be dumb enough to try and climb it that they’ll be regretting it. Three cars sit in the driveway. One is a white Chrysler worth more than Louis’ entire life, and beside it, crumpled up in a heap of misery, is Louis’ good ol’ Honda, with its chipped paint and broken speedometer. Of course, these things mean nothing now that Louis looks at the damage his poor car has taken. The front bumper is caved in, the hood unable to latch shut. He can see the engine through the broken, torn up metal, the windshield completely gone. Staring at the ruin before him, Louis’ breath shortens, his temples pulsing. How had he walked away from this alive?

Turning from the wreck and looking up at the house, he finds that it stands three stories tall, leering under the overcast sky, its windows darkened, almost black. It sends shivers up his spine, feeling like he’s staring into eyes that hold no soul. It’s then that Louis sees that there aren’t neighboring houses, or a highway in sight. Nothing but green fields stretching over hills, going on for miles and miles. There’s a gravel road that starts from the edge of the gate and leads to a forest—the very one he had been in the night before. He can tell by the lean of the trees and the smell of pine, and beyond that there should be a highway, the one his father would drive. If he can find the home owner, he can find a way out of here.

A low growl pulls Louis from his thoughts, sending his heart right to his throat. It’s a startling sound, one that makes Louis’ palms sweat, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He’s slow when he shifts his body weight, peering over his shoulder to find a black wolf standing only feet away. Fighting the urge to cry out, Louis bites his lips shut, eyes widened and tear filled.

“Hey,” he whispers, unsure of what else to do.

The wolf tilts its head, ears perked up. Then it begins to trot, its feet padding gracefully through the yard. Louis’ feet move without thought, his muscles screaming in protest as he pushes his body to a run, bones aching, head pounding. He knows not to run from animals—they like to chase, after all—but what the hell else is he to do? A wolf is prowling around him and his car is in shambles, his mind consumed by fear—he’s running, and he’s running fast, better judgement be damned.

He runs through the yard, bare feet stepping on sharp stones, sending blinding white pain up his legs. It’s when he reaches the front porch that he thinks he’s safe, but of course—just _of course—_ his knee gives out the moment his foot is elevated on the step, his hip bone cracking, his body brittle. He falls to a heap, cold stone welcoming his already pained body. The wolf is inches from Louis’ sprawled out legs, its ears still alert.

“Don’t hurt me,” Louis begs, hands up to protect his face. “I won’t hurt _you_ , so don’t hurt _me_.”

Moving closer still, the wolf makes a noise similar to a whine. It comes to a stop, face inches from Louis’. Its breath, hot and smelling of wood _—_ reminding Louis of a burning fire _—_ puffs out across his cheeks. One large and heavy paw touches Louis’ thigh. Its head is almost three times the size of his, its fangs large enough to extend the full length of Louis’ middle finger. It’s a huge fucking wolf and it’s all but breathing Louis’ air, its hide sleek and shined; almost groomed.

“Oh, God,” Louis sobs, his hands shaking enough to vibrate his entire body. “If you’re going to eat me, just break my neck first, okay?” He sounds crazed— _feels_ crazed. It’s a wonder his bladder hasn’t given out, and he’s certain that had he eaten anything before, he’d have choked it up by now. “Can you do that? Show a man some mercy— _God_.”

The wolf paws at him again, this time lightly, as if worried of harming him. It huffs out a heavy breath, reminding Louis of a sigh. It doesn’t move closer, doesn’t touch him again, but instead stands there, eyes burning holes into Louis’ face, and they look so real, so human that Louis’ breath is taken right from his lungs.

It’s a long time before his heart slows, its beat going back to normal. He asks, voice timid and frail, “You’re not going to hurt me. Are you?”

The wolf makes a move, seeming to shake its head.

“Do you understand me?”

It dips his muzzle to the ground, breathing in the dirt, looking up through long eyelashes.

“I’m talking to animals,” Louis whines, falling back on the stone porch and splaying his body out. “I’m dead, aren’t I? I totally died last night and now I’m talking to animals. Is this hell?” he laughs hollowly. “I _would_ be in hell.” He turns his head to the side, watching as the wolf lies down next to him, its head on its paws. “Are you even real?” and as if to prove that _yes, its real_ , the wolf presses its cold, wet nose to Louis’ hand. He jumps at the contact, his stomach tightening. The wolf doesn’t startle, its eyes calm and serene.

Louis’ fingers are still trembling when he puts his hand out, palm down, brushing the back of his fingers against the wolf’s face. The animal leans into the touch, mouth falling open and giving it the appearance of a smile.

The door swings open, the hinges creaking and making Louis cry out. He yanks his hand back to his chest, terrified that the wolf is going to bite it clean off.

“Get out of here,” a stern voice says. Louis’ positive they’re talking to him, but as he rises to his feet, and a boy no older than himself steps out of the house, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, they say, “Not you.”

The wolf is snarling now, its lips pulled away from its teeth. The front of its body is pressed to the ground, hind legs up and taut, ready to strike.

“Go on,” the boy says. “You have better things to do.”

Tucking its tail with its ears flat on its skull, the wolf backs away, eyes never leaving Louis. But not until the boy waves a frantic arm in the wolf’s face does the animal actually move, running away and out of reach.

“I didn’t hear you wake,” the boy says. He offers his hand, “Liam.”

“Louis.” They shake.

“Mind if I ask why you’re lying on the porch?”

“My car…”

“Come on,” Liam touches the small of Louis’ back with light fingers, ushering him inside. He latches the door behind them, sealing out the cold air and wild animals. “I was going to wake you, but figured you might need the extra sleep. You had a rough night.”

“Uh, yeah,” Louis keeps his eyes on his feet. “Not to, uh, sound rude or anything, but how did I end up here?”

“Zayn found you last night.”

Louis tilts head, silently asking who that is.

"House mate," Liam says. "Showed me where your car was this morning and we brought it back. Thought you’d want to see the damage and decide what it was you wanted to do with it.”

With his face flushed, embarrassment eating him whole, Louis nods, giving a weak, “Thank you.”

“Don’t think anything of it. Though, I’ve gotta say, you did a pretty big number on that thing.”

“I hit an animal.”

“No way,” Liam smiles sweetly, letting Louis know that he’s wrong but it’s okay. “An animal wouldn’t have done that to your vehicle. A tree, maybe.”

“Yeah,” Louis’ mouth is dry, words shaken. “Maybe.”

“I went ahead and called Triple A, but they won’t be able to get a truck out here until this evening. Is that okay?”

Louis nods. He follows Liam into the kitchen, the one with the wine and the white countertops, and finds two colored mugs sitting by the sink, both full of coffee.

“Thought you’d need this,” Liam offers a mug. Louis takes it. “You hungry?”

Overwhelmed by everything, Louis feels his legs go numb. He grips the counter, knuckles turning white, head swimming. The pain is back, nagging at his brain and telling him that it would have been better to die in that wreck. At least he wouldn’t be feeling what he feels now.

“Hey,” Liam takes his arm, guiding him to the dining table. He pushes the coffee over, hand lingering on Louis’ shoulder. “Food will make you feel ten times better. Promise.” Liam moves through the kitchen with practiced precision, his hands flying quickly through cupboards, grabbing everything he needs. There’s a skillet and plates, a carton of eggs and bacon all ready and lining the stove. “Not vegetarian, are you?”

Louis shakes his head, resting his cheek to the cold wood of the table. “Is it just you here?” he asks.

“No. There’s four of us. You might meet the others later, depending on when the tow truck comes.” The sizzle of bacon echoes in the vast kitchen, the smell making Louis’ stomach clench with hunger. “There’s Harry and Niall, they’re on a run right now. And,” Liam scoffs. “There’s Zayn. You’ll surely meet him once he’s done with whatever he’s up to.”

Louis rolls his face so that his forehead is on the table, eyes screwed shut.

“Do you want something for the pain?” Liam asks.

“What do you have?”

“Aspirin, Tylenol, the usual. But if the pain is bad—”

“It’s bad,” Louis moans.

“I have Vicodin.”

“That’d be great.”

With a simple nod, Liam moves out of the kitchen, the sound of his footsteps ascending the stairs. Louis, with his face still smashed into the table, lets out a soft sob as he tries to move his left arm. It’s not broken, that much is evident, but there’s something wrong with it, maybe something’s pulled or torn, but he’s no medic, he can’t tell.

There’s a gentle scuffle on the hardwood, followed by a soft whimper.

Louis looks up, expecting to find absolutely nothing in the kitchen, and is instead faced with the wolf again. It’s sitting by the other end of the table, its back straight, chin tipped up, dignified. Louis yelps, body too broken to try moving. Now that he’s sitting, he doesn’t think he can get back up. He’s defenseless as the wolf walks timidly towards him, cry caught in his throat. Whether or not he’s touched the damn thing doesn’t make it safe, and inside the house it looks ten times larger than before. It’s a wonder that it fit through the doorway at all.

It whimpers again, this time loud and clear as it lays its head in Louis’ lap, the giant skull taking up both of Louis’ thighs.

Sat perfectly straight in the chair, Louis stares down at the animal as it stares back up at him.

“You’re starting to scare me, buddy,” Louis whispers. “How did you even get in here?”

Its tail starts to wiggle, its whole body seeming to dance.

“What, do you like me, or something?” Thinking, _to hell with it_ , Louis places his hand flat on the top of the wolf’s head, his fingers looking tiny and ghastly pale against its fur. Scratching behind its ears, Louis smiles and its genuine, his spirits feeling lifted. “You watchin’ out for me?”

The wolf wiggles some more.

“You’re handsome, I’ll give you that.” He cups his hand under the wolf’s jaw, holding its face up. Peering directly into its eyes, Louis feels a rush of calmness seeming to touch his soul. His body feels light, his heart skipping a beat. There’s knowledge and recognition in the animal’s eyes. It’s like staring into an old friend’s face after not seeing them for years.

Liam’s voice sounds through the walls, “I think you’re too small to take two,” he’s saying, coming back down the stairs. The wolf scurries away, its nails rattling against the wood, paws unable to grip the flooring. It bangs off the door frame as it runs, hightailing it right the hell out of there. Liam turns the corner, eyes narrowed, annoyance written all over his face. He looks to Louis, smiles vaguely and sets one single pill on the table. “Excuse me,” he says, walking out of the room. There’s a pause, then the slam of a door, the sound of a lock twisting into place.

“Strange pet to have,” Louis says, popping the pill into his mouth and washing it down with the bitter, black coffee. “Pretty big, too.”

“He’s not so much a pet as he is a pest.”

“Does he come in often?”

Liam turns the bacon, cracking an egg over the counter. “Not usually, no. He actually really hates people. Which is why,” he takes a gallon of orange juice out of the fridge, “it’s weird that he’s even around right now.” There’s bane in his voice, telling Louis that Liam doesn’t much like his wolf friend. “Hopefully he stays out this time.”

They eat in silence, Louis mostly too starved to carry on a conversation. Liam talks, though. He talks quite a bit, telling Louis about his car and the wreckage. He says the tow truck shouldn’t take too long, and that Louis should be back home by nightfall. He asks countless times if Louis feels alright and if he remembers anything from the night before.

“It’s hazy,” Louis says once he’s finished his plate. “I don’t really remember anything.”

“Were you drunk?”

He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “No.”

“High?”

Slightly offended, Louis gives a stern, “No.”

“Sorry,” Liam holds up his hands in defense, mouth curled up in a smile. “I just can’t figure out how you so blatantly drove into something.”

“I’m telling you, it was an animal. It wasn’t there one second, and then it was.” Louis punches his left hand into his right’s palm, mimicking an explosion. “Boom.” He’s pretty sure the Vicodin has taken effect on him now.

“When I went to get your car, I didn’t see any animal tracks. Not to mention, if you had hit anything big enough to do _that_ to your car—” Liam shakes his head, rubbing at his temples, “we would have seen it. You can’t hide a body that big. Not overnight.”

Louis’ throat clenches shut at the thought of something dying because of _him_ , because of _his_ problems. “I’m pretty sure it got up,” he says, trying desperately to think back to the night. There had been other animals with it. One of them had steel blue eyes, bright enough to see in the dark. Wolf eyes. Wolves. “It was a wolf,” he whispers, skin pinched between his eyes. “I hit a wolf.” Pausing, Louis slowly brings his gaze to Liam’s. “ _Your_ wolf.”

Liam’s eyes widen by a fraction, his lips parting but just barely. “What?” he says with a dry mouth. “That doesn’t make sense—”

The front door flies open with enough force that it crashes against the wall, the windows rattling. Louis starts, a small yelp working past his lips.

A voice, angry and vehement, yells out, “You _know_ not to get my face! That shit _hurts_!”

“I said I was sorry,” another voice says, this one quiet and apologetic. “It’ll heal. You’ll look fine in a min—”

“Hey, _hey_!” Liam calls, pushing his chair away from the table. “Our house guest is awake.” His motions are hurried, frantic, giving Louis the faint feeling that Liam’s trying to hide something from him.

Disappearing into the living room and leaving Louis alone at the table, Liam says a hushed, “Go clean up. It’s fine—you look fine.”

A head pokes into the room, one with hair so blonde it looks white, making Louis think of Jack Frost.

“Hey,” he says. His eyes gleam. As he steps into the room, his white shirt speckled with blood, he puts out his hand for Louis to take. “Niall.”

Liam comes back into the kitchen, breathless and half-manic. He pats Niall on the shoulder, whispering, “Your shirt.” He looks to Louis. “Okay, so. Niall, Louis. Louis, Niall.” Liam starts to shove Niall away, pushing him back towards the entrance. “Harry should be down in a minute.”

“Okay,” Louis says, squinting at the two of them. He doesn’t like the way Liam’s acting. It makes his skin crawl, instinct setting in and telling him he should go. If they’re keeping secrets, that’s fine. But Louis isn’t going to wind up chopped up and buried in the backyard if that’s the case. Except, there’s no good way of saying these things, and he doesn’t want to offend anyone—especially people nice enough to take him in when they didn’t have to. (This only furthers his unease, wondering why they would do something this nice without a second thought.)

Louis stands slowly, the pain in his body subsided. “Is it okay if I step outside?” he asks. “I think that pill was a little stronger than I anticipated,” he forces out a laugh that he’s sure neither of the two believe.

“Sure, yeah,” Liam points to the front door. “Take all the time you need.”

The cold, clean air tastes like heaven as Louis inhales, his bare feet on the chilled stone porch. He walks through the grass, ignoring his totaled car and the nice, shiny Chrysler next to it. He walks with his head down and his hands in his pockets. His breath feels short, legs wobbly as he moves. It’s definitely the medication, he thinks as he reaches the end of the drive.

The woods look different in the daytime. The trees aren’t as creepy, their branches not looking nearly as twisted as they do in the moonlight. It’s just a normal forest, one that looks inviting and refreshing. Louis gives a weary glance over his shoulder, feeling as if someone is watching him—he wouldn’t be surprised if it were Liam, and very carefully, Louis weasels his body though the opening of the iron gate.

He avoids the gravel road, not wanting splinters or shards in his feet, and wonders dimly where his shoes are. He should have grabbed them, he thinks. Not knowing where he’s going, but knowing that he wants to take his time, Louis cuts through a wide field of green, dandelions withering on their stems as he treads by.

There’s the faint sound of panting coming from behind him, and Louis doesn’t have to turn around to know what’s making the noise.

“You have a problem,” he calls over his shoulder, knowing the animal hears. “You can’t just follow people around. What if someone tried to hunt you?”

There’s a feeble growl and the soft _pat-pat-pat_ as the wolf runs to catch up, nose nudging Louis’ side.

“Why do you like me so much?” Louis stops walking, resting his hand on the wolf’s head. He doesn’t pet him, just lets his hand rest there. Even standing, Louis feels so small in the animal’s presence. It reaches his chest, head wider than Louis’ ribcage. “Do I smell good to you?”

The wolf snorts, nuzzling into Louis’ stomach. Then it’s taking off, running wild and free, tail wagging. It stops a couple feet away, chest to the ground, butt in the air. It snorts again, taking off towards Louis and running circles around him.

Laughing out, Louis hides his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers. “I’m not playing with you,” he says, smiling so wide that his face hurts. “I won’t be able to keep up!”

The wolf continues its circles, kicking up dirt, its face comical as the wind blows its lips back.

“Alright, _alright_ —” Louis takes off after it, being careful not to lean his weight on his left leg. He’s limping, but it’s good enough—at least for the wolf it is.

They run in circles, uphill then down, Louis gasping for air and wishing he had taken weightlifting back in high school. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so winded when all he’s doing is jogging in a ten foot radius, or maybe he’s just out of shape, whatever.

“That’s it,” he pants, hands on his knees. “I can’t anymore.”

A nudge at his leg.

“I can’t.” He pushes the wolf away. “Not right now.”

Another nudge, this time forceful. It hits Louis hard enough to make him stumble.

“Oh my _God_ , okay. _Fine_. Where to? Back home?”

The wolf runs towards the house, bouncing around on all fours.

Louis doesn’t run, not really—he’s fast walking more than anything, trying to catch up to the animal. It’s hopeless, he knows it, but at least he’s trying. The damn thing should be able to sense that. Right?

Working his way up a steep hill and pausing for only a second at the top, Louis wipes the back of his hand over his forehead, brushing away the sweat that’s collected there. He takes a step forward, two steps, three, then he’s going at a full-on run, the wind whipping through his shirt, cooling his heated skin. He runs with his eyes closed, the gentle throb of pain returning in his left side, but he ignores it; ignores the entire world. Running with fresh air in his face, his hair blowing all around, his head feeling as light as it does; it’s like he’s free. His joints don’t hurt—not yet, anyway—and his muscles are able to keep up with him so far, making it that much easier to pick up speed. He runs and runs, not caring about his car or his shoes, not caring about the wolf or the weight of the world. It feels like he’s leaving it all behind, saying goodbye to the things that never brought him happiness, saying goodbye to his mother who would never return. He feels like a child: weightless.

But you see, running with your eyes closed is a stupid thing to do, especially when you haven’t any shoes on. Louis doesn’t expect to step on a rock, but he does, and he doesn’t expect to stumble right into a pothole, which he also does. He flies—honestly _flies—_ through the air, limbs flailing, eyes wide and alert now.

His body makes a _thud_ when it hits the field, the side of his face bouncing off of the ground, pain splicing right through him. He groans loudly, miserably. Rolling onto his back, Louis cups his face, pulling away a blood stained palm. The sky swims before him, the grey clouds mixing with the horizon. He has double vision, head pounding.

“Shit,” he breathes out, not wanting to move. He’ll just die here, he thinks. Who cares about anything else? He’ll just die and that will be the end of that. He’s positive he’s going to have a concussion, maybe a brain hemorrhage if he’s lucky. The pain is back in his body, or maybe it’s a new pain, Louis doesn’t know nor does he care. He’s too busy watching the sky as it moves in swirls, the trees nothing but blotches to him. He raises a hand, squinting both eyes shut, and pretends to grab one of the many clouds out of the sky.

He hopes he doesn’t lose consciousness, hopes that if he does die he does it with shoes on. Death by rock, he thinks, laughing, feeling hysterical. Everything begins to blur, the light fading out, the sky turning black. His eyes are just about closed when a deep, rugged voice whispers,

“Are you alright?”

Louis forces his eyes open, snapping his attention towards the intrusion. His eyes fall on a boy with raven-black hair, tattoos covering most of his body. He’s naked, which isn’t the worst of it. Louis hardly even notices his lack of clothes. He’s too concerned with the curious, fearful eyes staring down at him, eyes that he had been looking into only moments before. They’re golden brown with long lashes—emotions locked up tightly within them—and when Louis stares into them, the breath is taken right from his lungs.

“Please, don’t yell,” he says, but Louis does.

He screams and he kicks and he tries to get to his feet, but it’s hopeless. His body won’t cooperate, his knees giving out as he leans weight on them. He’s still crying out, shoving the wolf— _no, no_ , the boy—the _man_ away from him with trembling hands.

And then all is black, the universe coming to a halt as Louis falls face first into the plush green grass, eyes rolling shut.

*

The sun has set, the tow truck never showing. Louis’ sat on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his mind in shock. Liam and Harry are talking to him, talking about something that seems important, but Louis can’t hear a thing they’re saying. It’s like someone has their hands covering his ears, blocking out all sounds except for his own heartbeat, echoing wildly in his head.

“What?” he asks when Liam’s mouth stops moving.

With a deep sigh, Liam sits on the coffee table across from the couch, his elbows on his knees. “What did you see?”

“I don’t know.”

“You saw something. Right?”

Louis chews on the inside of his cheek, turning away from Liam. Staring at the far wall, eyes tracing around the frame of some watercolor painting, Louis whispers, “It was the Vicodin.”   
  
“What about it?”

“I was seeing things.”

“What kind of things?”

Louis shrugs, claps his hands together. “Nothing.”

Harry’s voice is gentle when he says, “You can tell us. No one’s gonna laugh at you.”

“You were pretty shaken up by whatever it was,” Liam says, touching Louis’ arms lightly, making him flinch away. “Might as well get it off your chest.”

“It was the damn wolf,” he says through clenched teeth. “It was following me around and I was playing with it. Then I fell and I—fuck, I don’t know! I thought I saw a guy, but it wasn’t a guy, you understand? It was the wolf, only he was human.”

Harry asks, “How do you figure that?”

“Its eyes. They were the same exact eyes.”

“You really believe that?” Harry asks. “You think the wolf turned into a man?”

“I know how insane that sounds, okay? You don’t have to say it like that.” Louis crosses his arms over his chest, sinking back into the couch, feeling like a scolded child. “I told you, it was the drugs. I’m _sure_ of it.”

“Okay,” Liam stands, pulling Harry by his arm to the far side of the room.

Louis can’t hear what they’re saying, and can’t say that he honestly cares. He wants to know why the truck never came to pick up his car, and why this weird family with their pet wild animals keep acting like they’re hiding something. It’s creepy, Louis thinks. It’s just downright creepy.

Making his way back to Louis, Harry stands an arms length away, brushing his hair out of his eyes. There’s no trace of a scratch or a cut on his face, making Louis’ chest feel funny.

“Are you familiar with, uh,” Harry clears his throat, smiling feebly. “Werewolves?”  
  
“ _What_?” Louis half-yells, throwing the blanket off of his body. They’re making fun of him, he just fucking _knows_ it. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A very simple one,” Liam says. “Answer it.”

Louis’ blood runs cold as real fear spikes through his veins. “No,” he deadpans. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t want any part of it.” He climbs to his feet (still bare), and pushes past Harry, shoving him hard. There’s a snarl from the doorway as his arm makes contact with Harry’s chest, an animalistic snarl, threatening, and just as Louis looks towards the sound, Niall steps into the light, his eyes narrowed.

“It’s fine,” Harry says, and as if on cue, Niall backs away.

Liam steps in Louis’ way, blocking him from leaving the room. “You can’t go,” he says, not making eye contact. “Not yet, anyway.”

“ _What_?”

“You have to meet with Tobias first,” Harry says. “He’ll need to evaluate you.”

“ _Who the hell is Tobias_?” Louis all but shrieks, trying with all his might to push Liam out of his way, but it’s like the guy is made of stone, his stance never faltering.

“Tobias,” Harry repeats, “is the alpha.”

“ _Our_ alpha,” Niall corrects.

“Right. Our alpha.”

Louis stumbles back, eyes wide, mind blank. “Oh, _God_ ,” he wails. “You’re part of some _cult_ , aren’t you?”

“A pack,” Niall says. “I don’t see how that’s a cult.”

“A pack of _psychos_ —” Louis makes a mad dash for the door only to be tackled down on the hardwood, Niall’s hard body pinning him down. A pair of black boots with mud on the soles stops inches from Louis’ face, his eyes screwing shut, sure that he’s about to be kicked in the face.

“Get off of him,” comes a simple demand.

Niall’s weight is gone, Louis too scared to move. Hands grip his shoulders, hoisting him to his feet, and he finds himself staring right into the same brown eyes. He can’t scream, there isn’t enough air left in him to do so, but he fights, pushing the hands away from him, trying to get as far as possible from the person they belong to.

“Stay calm,” he says, his grip tightening, making Louis’ bones hurt.

What’s hysteria one moment is complete serenity the next as Louis locks eyes with him, their color lightening into a pale gold. It’s a magic trick of some sort, it has to be. People’s eye colors don’t just _change_ for no reason, and there’s no explanation for the way Louis’ entire being relaxes, fear easing out of him, leaving him with a slow beating heart.

“Where have you _been_?” Liam asks, breaking the connection.

Louis blinks hard, slapping the boy’s hands away. “Who the hell are you?”

“Zayn,” he says, having the audacity to smile. He looks beyond Louis, asks, “Why can’t you let him go?”

“Because of _you_ ,” Harry sneers. “Why didn’t you just stay in your fucking form? This could have _all been avoided_.”

There’s a snarl, a growl. Louis feels like he’s going to faint again.

“The lot of you,” he begins, breathing heavily, “are fucking _insane_ , okay? You’re creepy as hell and I want to go home. Let me go home, _please_.”

Zayn’s hand, still touching Louis’ shoulder, tightens. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“He knows enough,” Liam says.

“Maybe if you had kept your mouth shut—”

Harry scoffs. “Maybe if _you_ —”

“Stop,” Niall says. There’s an edge in his voice that makes Louis’ mouth run dry. He watches as Harry backs away, eyes glaring at Niall like he’s some kind of target.

“You don’t talk to me that way,” he says, his voice tense.

Liam steps between the two of them. “Alright,” he says, putting one hand flat on Harry’s chest. He doesn’t have to reach for Niall, he’s already leaving the room, head down, shoulders bunched up around his ears. “Great. Now what the hell am I supposed to do with him?”

“Let _him_ —” Zayn motions to Louis, “go home. Harry, go apologize to your damn boyfriend.”

Harry storms out of the room, shoving both hands against Zayn’s back on the way out.

“You should really listen to him,” Louis pleas. “He knows what he’s talking about.”

“Believe me, he doesn’t. We don’t _want_ to keep you here, Louis, okay? A human is the last thing we want around our house, but if Tobias hears about this—” Liam turns to Zayn, “there will be hell to pay, and I’m not going to watch him burn this place to the ground because _you_ couldn’t keep yourself in check.” Liam heads for the doorway. “I’m calling him.”

And that’s when Louis’ reduced to a sobbing mess. Liam goes, leaving him alone with Zayn still fucking _touching_ him, making Louis want to lash out and tear him apart. He backs away, body heaving as he cries. “Let me go,” he begs. “I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” Zayn says. “You’re safe here.”

“You expect me to _believe_ that?”

“Well, why not? If someone was going to harm you, they would have done it by now.”

“That doesn’t make me _feel better_!” Louis collapses on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, his back pressed to the side of the couch. Burying his face in his arms, Louis tries to hide from Zayn, from everything.

“You’ll feel better in the morning. I can show you back to your room.”

“I’m not _staying_ —”

“You have to.” Zayn sits down next to him. “I’m sorry, but you do. Once Tobias finds out about this, there’s no running away from it.”

“Then tell Liam to stop! Make him hang up the phone. Do _something_.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, letting all chances of argument die then and there.

Exhausted and weak, wanting to lie in his bed, wanting to see his mother again, Louis hides in his hands, curling in on himself. “Why do I have to see him?”

“He’s a cautious man. He’ll need to see that you’re a trustworthy person.”

“Trustworthy, how? What am I being trusted with?”

“Our secret, of course.”

“What, that you’re shape-shifting assholes?” Louis wipes his hand over his eyes, bottom lip trembling as he speaks. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise, I won’t.”

“I believe you.”

“Then, why—”

“Tobias is a different story.”

“ _God_ ,” Louis wails, wanting to throw himself on the floor or into traffic, whichever would make this all go away sooner. “Who would even believe something like this? Am I supposed to go to the nearest bar and talk about the-the,” he sputters, unable to take the word seriously, “ _werewolves_ I saw in the woods? Who the fuck would take me seriously?”

“A lot of people would,” Zayn says, calmly. “You’d be surprised.”

“Jesus, okay. Fine. I have to meet your fucking _alpha_. But what happens if he doesn’t end up trusting me? Hm? What then? Does he just stuff me in a box and throw me out to sea? Maybe put a bullet in my head?”

It’s a long time before Zayn finally says, eyes cast down, “Not quite that extreme, but…”

And that’s it—Louis now knows he’s going to die in this house. These are going to be the last faces he sees, and maybe he’ll go peacefully if their alpha—or whoever the hell he is—is decent enough, or maybe he’ll go out screaming, clawing at the dirt and wishing he had died all those years ago with his father.

His eyes flutter open, throat raw when he whispers, “It _was_ you last night. Wasn’t it?”

Zayn stands then, brushing off the front of his jeans and smoothing out his shirt. He’s walking to the kitchen as Louis calls to him,

“ _Why didn’t you just let me die_?”

And he disappears without breathing a single word.


	3. Chapter 3

The first night is the worst. Louis tries to sneak out the second story window, but the moment he has the curtains pulled to the side, the latch of the window unlocked, he hears an ear splitting howl come from outside, and he doesn’t see for himself, but there’s a tightening in his chest that tells him it’s the black wolf.

The second day is spent hiding under pillows and blankets and ignoring Harry when he knocks on the door. There are gentle voices in the hall, right beyond the walls, whispers about giving Louis _time_ and letting him _settle in_. And all he can think about is a way to get home, or just a way to disappear. He’d settle for either.

“You should really come out of here,” Harry says on the third day, Louis having finally unlocked the bedroom door.

He still has yet to move from his blanket cocoon. He’s been rolled up in bedsheets for the past thirty-six hours, not even bothering to find the bathroom. He’ll pee another time, when he isn’t being held hostage by a bunch of insane boy-scouts.

“It’ll help make you feel better,” Harry continues. Louis doesn’t have to look to know that Niall’s close by, surely drilling holes in the back of Louis’ head, waiting for him to make a move. “How about a shower at least?”

Louis perks up, peeking over the edge of the blanket. He stares up at Harry, who’s smiling brightly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” and then Harry’s gone, rummaging through drawers.

Sitting up, Louis untangles the blankets from his feet, and sure enough, there’s Niall standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, eyes trained on Louis. He’s come to learn that the two of them are like magnets: when one shifts, the other follows. And Harry’s never around without Niall close on his heels, watching every single move that Harry makes.

Harry hands Louis two folded towels. “If you wanna eat first, I can bring your breakfast up—”

“I’d rather go now.”

Harry nods, squeezing past Louis and heading for the hall. He leads the way—Niall behind Louis, as if blocking him in—to a single white door with a glass knob. “Everything you need should be in there. I’ll have clean clothes laid out for you in the room when you’re done.” He gives another friendly smile, his spirits never breaking. “Take however long you need.”

With the door shut and locked behind him, Louis stands in the middle of the vast bathroom, trying desperately to take in his surroundings. It’s a spacious, nearly empty room with a porcelain claw bathtub in one corner, a full-length mirror in another. Walking to the mirror, Louis stares himself down. Dark circles lay beneath his eyes. His face is gaunt; cheeks hollowed. Stripping down to his boxer-briefs, and keeping an eye on the marks that line his body, Louis sees that his entire right side is littered with bruises; deep, red marks cover his thigh, his hip, his ribs. Purple blotches tinted black mark his shoulder, his neck. He looks like hell, plain and simple. He shudders, a chill crawling up his spine, making each hair on his body stand on end. Sighing heavily, Louis runs the shower.

Standing under the steady flow of water, Louis feels his joints warm up, muscles relaxing. He’s tempted, halfway through, to curl up at the bottom of the tub and sleep the rest of his life away. He would have done just that, he thinks, had the hot water not ran out.

His fingers are wrinkled, his skin sensitive as he steps out of the tub, the cold tile sending sparks up his legs. Moving slowly, Louis makes his way out of the bathroom, and dressed in nothing but a towel, he pokes his head out of the room, peering into the hall. He finds Niall standing there, back against the wall, head tilted back, eyes shut.

“Are you going to follow me around this whole time?” Louis asks, taking his dirty clothes and wadding them up in his arms.

“Pretty much.”

Annoyed, Louis makes a quick escape to the guest room, but before he can shut the door, Niall’s there, invading his space. “ _What_?”

“Once you’re dressed and ready, Harry wants you to come downstairs.”

“Why?”

“He just does. He’d like to show you around.”

“There’s nothing I want to see.”

Niall steps forward, voice calm though his eyes are bright, narrowed. “You don’t want to hurt his feelings, do you? I can tell you right now that you don't.”

Taking a cautious step back, Louis breathes heavily through his nose. “Fine.”

“Good. Clothes on the bed, like he said.”

As Niall’s turning to leave, Louis spits out, “You can’t just push me around to do the things Harry wants me to,” and Niall looks at him in such a way that Louis regrets ever being born.

“I can, and I will.”

He scoffs, putting his hand on the knob, ready to close the door and shut Niall out. “Do you do everything he asks?”

Tilting his head to the side, his eyes thoughtful, Niall nods. “Of course,” he says, voice thick as if Louis’ just asked the dumbest question known to mankind. “Take your time,” he motions to the clothes in Louis’ arms. “Want me to take those?”

Snatching them closer to his chest, Louis shakes his head and slams the door. It’s not about being polite anymore. If Harry wants to send his bodyguard after Louis to bully him around, then fine. That’s fine. Louis can deal with that, but he’s not going to be nice about it.

He makes _sure_ to take his time—so much time, in fact, that it’s almost dusk when he finally decides to make the trek downstairs. Surprisingly, Niall isn’t waiting for him in the hall, or in the living room. The house is deathly quiet as Louis tiptoes through it, careful not to bump into anything. As he rounds the corner into the kitchen, he finds Liam sat at the table. Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he stands there, waiting. The room feels different from that first morning when Liam had made breakfast. When he had said that Louis could actually go home. Now, the kitchen seems too bright, everything too orderly and neat, and there’s Liam just _sitting_ there, reading a goddamn magazine like it’s just another normal day.

“Doing alright?” Liam asks, breaking through Louis’ thoughts. “Lost?”

“Harry wanted me down here.”

“He’s outside,” he points to a sliding glass door. “Watch your step going out.”

Standing by the door, and staring through the glass, Louis watches as Niall, sat at a long, wooden table, sets a pair of playing cards in front of Harry. They’re playing blackjack, Louis can tell by the way Harry racks his knuckles against the tabletop, signaling for a hit. Niall slides a card over to him, his eyes fixed on Harry and Harry alone. The look on his face, the gleam in his eyes; the way the corners of his mouth curl up in the slightest of smiles has Louis’ stomach in knots. Niall’s looking at Harry the way that anyone would want to be looked at: as if he’s the only important thing in existence. There’s admiration in his eyes, love in his smile, and he’s not even paying attention to what Harry’s saying, or the fact that Harry seems to have won the dealt hand. Niall’s too enthralled, and the look on his face alone makes the moment too intimate to bear.

Louis turns away from the door, looks to Liam who’s already looking at him. Liam nods, urging Louis to go.

“I think I’m interrupting,” Louis says.

“I guarantee that you’re not.”

“I don’t know, man,” Louis clicks his tongue. “It seems pretty, uh—”

“It’s just how they are. You might want to get out there before they notice you’re watching.”

Blushing deeply, Louis clears his throat. He slides open the door, stepping out in the cold night air, and instantly his senses are assaulted by an array of different smells, clouding his head and making his nose itch. Pomegranate trees line the backyard, giving the air a naturally sweet scent, and the back porch they’re on isn’t exactly a porch, but a deck made of dark wood, complete with a worn down _Welcome_ mat by the door. Niall’s no longer looking at Harry but at Louis, and he’s doing so in a way that says _I will eat you whole_. Or maybe that’s just Louis’ imagination—whatever.

“Hey!” Harry jumps from his seat, all but skipping over to Louis. “I didn’t think you’d come down,” he smiles wide, showing all of his teeth. There’s genuine excitement in his eyes and it makes Louis feel slightly like an asshole.

“Yeah,” is all Louis can think to say, nodding his head, hands stuffed in his pants pockets.

“Come on,” says Harry, nudging Louis along, bringing him closer to the table. He pulls out a seat for him, waiting until Louis’ sat and comfortable before taking his own seat.

“Niall said you wanted to show me around?”

“Oh! Not exactly.” Harry smiles sheepishly, his cheeks tinting pink. “I just wanted to get you out of the room, actually. You’ve been up there for a while, so,” he bops his head from side to side. “You know.”

Louis sighs through his nose, props his elbows on the table. “Not to sound cynical, but what does it matter?”

“It might not _seem_ this way, but we’re not jerks,” Harry says, scooping the playing cards up and shuffling the deck. “Your stay doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

Louis scoffs, shaking his head. “Why am I out here? What, just to _hang out_? Is that what this is?”

“I thought maybe you’d wanna talk, or something. I’m sure you have a couple questions.”

“Right. Questions pertaining to your—uh,” Louis motions between the two of them, not knowing what to say, “ _issues_.”

Harry recoils as if hit, his brows pinching together. “I don’t look at it as an issue,” he whispers, and his face is so innocent, his tone light, offended. Louis _really_ feels like an asshole now.

“Sorry,” he says, grinding his teeth and hating that he’s even apologizing. “Wrong word to use, okay?” Shifting his sight from Harry to Niall and locking Niall’s gaze, Louis sits back in his chair, wanting to hide from Niall’s pale blue eyes. They burn so brightly, so _intensely_. Louis would swear that he can feel them looking directly in on his soul. It’s a terrible feeling. “Okay,” he says, holding Niall’s gaze. “I have a question. The two of you, what’s up with that? Why do _you_ —” he points to Niall, “look so angry, like, all the time?”

“You hurt his feelings,” Niall says, voice calm and collected, making him that much more intimidating. “I told you that isn’t something you want to do.”

“But it’s okay,” Harry rushes out, laying a hand on Niall’s thigh. “It’s okay. Right?”

Niall pauses, looking at Harry, then to Louis, then back to Harry. He seems to be fighting with himself, trying to decide between what he _should_ do and what he _wants_ to do. He gives up, slouching in his chair.

Harry pats his leg, says, “How about you get something to drink, huh? You want something, Louis? We have tea and coffee, or just water if you want.”

“Please, tell me that you have something stronger than that.”

Harry nods knowingly. “Grab a bottle,” he tells Niall, and it’s not until Niall’s in the house and out of sight that Harry breathes out a quiet, “Sorry about him. He can get a little ahead of himself.”

“Is he your guard dog,” Louis asks, screwing his eyes shut. “ _Fuck_ , sorry. No offense.”

Laughing gently, Harry continues to shuffle the cards. “He’s not a guard, but I guess that’s just something that comes along with it. You know? He’s the protector.”

“ _Your_ protector?”

“Well, he’s _my_ mate, and it’s just how he is.”

“Mate?” Louis repeats, attempting to wrap his mind around the word. “What does that mean? Like, you’re werewolf married, or what?”

“In a way. Kind of,” Harry shrugs, and the way he’s slouched in his chair, his shoulders bunched up, fingers playing with the edges of the cards, he reminds Louis of a child: harmless, happy. “We don’t usually get married.”

“You mean werewolves?” Louis still can’t believe this is a word he’s using in his every day conversations.

“Yeah. It’s not something that we do, but…I mean we could if we wanted to. But when you mate, it’s for life, and what more could you want?”

“So, you’re saying that you’re going to be with Niall for _ever_?”

“Mhmm,” Harry smiles sweetly. “That’s about it.”

“What happens when he dies?”

The smile fades quickly, Harry’s head tilting to the side. “What?”

“When he dies. You guys die, don’t you?”

Visibly uncomfortable, Harry shifts in his seat, nodding. “We die,” he says, barely speaking. “But I don’t see how that’s—”

“Then, when he dies, what happens? Do you go find another mate?”

“No,” is all Harry says, no longer making eye contact with Louis. He’s staring at his hands, thumb caressing the cards.

Niall returns with a bottle of Riesling and three plastic cups. “The good glasses aren’t clean,” he explains as he pours Louis’ drink. “Doubt it’d matter to you, though.”

“I get the feeling you don’t like me,” Louis says, taking a long, heavy pull from his drink. The wine burns going down, warming him from the inside out. Closing his eyes, breathing softly, Louis wills the alcohol to take full effect.

“It’s not you,” Harry says when Niall makes no attempt to respond. “It’s just the situation.”

“With your alpha?” Louis asks. He’s fidgeting with the cup, watching the contents splash around within it. “What’s up with him, by the way? Where is he?”

“He should be on his way by now,” Harry says.

“What’s taking him so long? It’s been, like, three days already. Am I supposed to sit here forever?”

“Tobias is very old-fashioned,” says Niall, offering the bottle of wine to Louis as he dumps back the rest of his drink. “He likes to travel by foot, mostly. I wouldn’t put it past him to do it now.”

“ _Foot_?” Louis sputters. “What, like he’s _walking_ here?”

“Wolves can run quite quickly,” Niall says as if that clears everything up.

“He’s running here? From _where_?”

“Alaska,” Harry says. “He shouldn’t take longer than a few more days. Maybe three more. You’ll see. He’ll be here sooner than you think, and not to work you up or anything…but maybe you should enjoy the time you have now.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Harry shrugs, mouth pulled down in a deep frown. “I’m just saying, is all.”

Louis can’t breathe, his throat is closing up. There’s a gentle hum working its way through his body, making his fingers tremble. “Is he going to kill me?” he asks in a broken voice, one that shakes just as badly as his hands.

“Enough with the questions,” Niall says. He puts out a hand, palm up, and asks Harry, “Can I have those,” pointing to the cards.

Blood is rushing in Louis’ ears, heating his face, making him feel the urge to cry. A warm, almost hot, hand touches his wrist, making him jump.

“Stop.” It’s Niall touching him, Niall speaking to him. He’s looking at Louis and his eyes are doing the brightening thing that Zayn’s do, only when Louis looks into them, he still feels anxious, his brow beginning to sweat. “He’s not going to kill you. Alright? So, stop with the freaking out.”

Louis can only nod.

“You know how to play blackjack?” Niall asks, holding up the deck of cards. “If not, the rules are really simple.”

“I do,” Louis says, eyeing the wine. He pours himself a full glass, hating the way his empty stomach twists. He just hopes this night will get over with soon.

The sun is nearly set, its red rays peeking out over the top of the trees, bathing the world in a hazy orange. The stars haven’t quite come out yet, but the faint silhouette of the moon overhead hangs low, making Louis that much more anxious. He wonders what the boys are like at night, if they go on hunts or if they just sit at home like regular people. Tempted to ask, Louis thinks better of it.

There are two cards laid in front of him: one face up, the other turned over. The card looking up at him is an eight of clubs. He gives the other card a quick peek: ten of diamonds. Eighteen, he forces himself to smile. That’s a decent hand, at least. And maybe he’ll actually win, that has to give him some kind of credit, right? Except, when Louis turns to Harry, debating whether or not he should take a hit from the dealer, he finds Harry showing both his cards to Niall, whispering something to him.

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to play,” Louis pinches his mouth shut.

Harry wrinkles his nose, snatches his cards from Niall as if the damage can be revoked. “Sorry,” he says with a giggle in his voice. “It’s a habit.”

“They like to team up on people,” comes a voice all too familiar.

Louis makes himself smaller in his seat, practically melting onto the floor, cup of wine cradled in his hands. Zayn’s standing only a few feet away, his presence feeling like a weight on Louis’ chest.

“What have _you_ been up to,” Harry asks Zayn, playing coy. “Wanna join us? We just started—” he turns to Niall. “I need new cards.”

The sun finishes its descent on the horizon, the moon shining brightly through the clouds as a string of lights lining the deck flicker to life. Zayn gives a solemn shake of his head, his eyes never leaving Louis.

“I’m not up for a game right now,” he says, and it’s only natural—only _pure_ reaction when Louis blurts out,

“Why not?”

Zayn stands there, unwavering, confused. “Well,” he rubs at his chin. “I could play a game. Sure.”

Louis wants to shout, _never mind, don’t play_ because he doesn’t want Zayn to think that he actually _wants_ to be around him, but the thought of being alone with Harry and Niall whilst they continue to make faces at each other, or just Niall in general, with his angry eyes and too-blonde hair, well, Louis would take Zayn over that any day. Zayn just can’t know that.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder, Louis nursing the hell out of his wine, he and Zayn wait for Niall to finish dealing the cards. He’s only dealt out one card per person when Liam bursts through the sliding door, shedding his shirt off. Louis has half the mind to turn away, there’s just no way that he’s going to watch some dude strip on the back porch, but then Harry’s jumping to his feet, bouncing on his toes, excitement high in his face.

“Where are you going?” he asks Liam.

“For a run.” Liam steps out of his sweat pants. He’s just _standing_ there in his underwear and Louis doesn’t _understand_. “It’s a pretty nice night,” he smiles, winks.

Harry looks over his shoulder back at Niall, and he’s biting in his lip, his cheeks flushed. “It _is_ pretty nice, huh?”

Niall nods, standing, and he moves in such a way it’s like he doesn’t want to touch Harry, but wants to be as close as humanly possible at the same time. He moves with precision, steps seeming timed, body mirroring Harry’s own movements as they too strip down to their boxers.

Louis exclaims, slaps a hand over his eyes, turns to Zayn. He mouths, _what the fuck_ eliciting a laugh from him.

“Our clothes get ruined if we leave them on,” Zayn says, softly, his head hung down, smile still in place. “It’s normal.”

“To what?” Louis asks, shielding the side of his face from both Harry and Niall. “To run around in the _nude_? Is that what you guys do in your spare time?”

“Animals don’t wear clothes,” Zayn says. “Only a few poor house pets have to deal with that shit.”

“Okay, you have a point,” he sighs. “But still. This is weird.”

Harry gasps audibly as he pleads, “You should come with us!”

“Come where?” Louis’ still keeping his eyes away from them. “On a run? I don’t run. Zayn’s seen what happens when I run.”

“We’ll keep an eye on you,” Niall offers. “Nothing will happen.”

“I don’t…I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

Zayn, peeking through the corner of his eye at Louis, pinches his mouth in a tight frown, brow furrowed. “I think you’ll like it.”

“You know what I like now?”

“No need to get defensive.”

There’s a gentle, “Please?” at Louis’ side, one that you would think came from a child.

He half turns, seeing Harry through his peripheral and his hands are clasped in front of him, a smile spread out across his face.

“Please?” he says again, this time bouncing on his feet. “You’d really love it.” And maybe it’s because dimples are digging into his cheeks, and his eyes are a bright, friendly green that Louis nods gently, says without thinking,

“Okay. Fine.”

Harry’s face brightens even more—if that’s at all possible—whilst Niall gives a roll of his eyes, the corners of his mouth twisting into a small smile. Louis pretends not to see it.

“I can’t keep up though,” Louis says, looking back at Zayn, who only shrugs.

“You won’t have to,” Harry says. He’s grabbing at Louis’ arm, pulling him along. “C’mon! Before Liam gets too far ahead.”

“ _Right_ now?”

“We’ll catch up,” Zayn says, rising from his seat. The cards are back in a neat stack, the bottle of wine capped and pushed aside.

Harry gives a single nod, still smiling all the while, and takes off, tugging at Niall hard enough that he almost trips over Harry’s feet. Louis can hear them laughing as they go, the wind carrying their voices until they’re nothing but whispers. He inhales, reaches for his cup.

“Can you refill this before we go?” Louis asks, sheepishly.

Zayn does so without word, and when the cup is almost filled to the rim, he hands it back, removing his T-shirt and throwing it aside. Louis doesn’t stare—he’s not a creep—but his eyes do linger on the images spread out across Zayn’s skin, and _no_ , Louis isn’t dumb. He knows a nice body when he sees one, and it’s not like there’s anything to hide. He’s already seen the dude naked, right? And yet, he still blushes when Zayn catches him looking, and buries his face into his wine, wishing to drown in it.

“Are you going to keep those on?” Louis asks, pointing to Zayn’s jeans.

Zayn looks down, shakes his head. “I didn’t plan on it.”

Louis can only sigh, taking a long, bitter drink.

Zayn takes a step away from him. “I can leave them on if that would make you more comfortable.”

“This entire situation would be more comfortable if I could just go home,” he jabs. “But no,” a sigh. “It’s fine. Everyone else took theirs off, it doesn’t make a difference.”

“You don’t have to lie,” Zayn mumbles, and then he’s gone, running down the porch steps, leaving Louis to wallow in his own embarrassment.

 _It’s not a lie_ , Louis thinks as he tries to keep up, cradling his cup. _Not a lie per se, anyway_. And it’s not that it’s Zayn or any of the others, and it’s not that it’s men. Hell—any other day, Louis would be more than okay with a cluster of guys stripping down to nothing in front of him, but this? It’s just different. And it might have a lot to do with the whole _being held against his will_ thing, but still…he finds himself watching the way the muscles move beneath Zayn’s skin as he runs, his back long and narrow, hips sharp and thin. Louis’ face burns as he wills himself to look away.

“Where are the others?” he asks when they’ve reached a clearing. The fields stretch on before him, bathed in moonlight, the saccharine smell of blossoms all around him. “Are they here?”

“Yes,” Zayn says, stepping out of his jeans and folding them by a large boulder. “You can put your cup here,” he pats the ground next to his clothes. Then he’s running away and Louis doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

He sets the cup down, prays that it doesn’t tip over, and chases after Zayn, yelling all the while, “You’ve seen what happens when I run! This isn’t good!”

“You don’t have to follow,” Zayn calls over his shoulder, picking up speed.

He’s going too fast for Louis to keep up, his lungs screaming for air, the back of his throat feeling raw. Slowing to a walk, Louis doubles over, hands on his knees, and when he looks up, searching blindly for Zayn in the dark, he sees—honest to God _sees—_ Zayn’s entire body twist and turn. His bones crack, sickening snaps of marrow and muscle as his limbs bend in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Then Zayn leaps, pushing off the ground with his legs, and when he lands only feet away from Louis, there’s no more Zayn. Only the black wolf.

“Holy shit.” Louis grabs at his hair, his mouth opened. “Holy shit.” He plops down on the grass with a loud _thump_. “Holy _shit_ —!”

Zayn heads straight for him, nose tucked to the ground. Louis keeps himself firmly seated, afraid that if he were to stand, he’d run.

“Is that normal?” he asks, knowing he won’t get a response. “Do you have to jump? Is that how it works? Oh, _God—_ what the _fuck_.” He’s shaking and he can’t stop, his voice vibrating along with his body. “How did your parents inform you of this-this _thing_? Did they take you out back and just let you melt into a wolf? Is that—” he flops down on his side, the wine having settled in. “This isn’t happening.”

Zayn nestles up next to him, face nudging against Louis’ cheek.

“Stop.” Louis pushes him away. “Your nose is cold. Do you drool? Is that something you do?”

Zayn snorts, rolling onto his side, paws up, batting at Louis.

Louis goes to pet him, his hand extended, ready to scratch at Zayn’s side, but then Zayn’s scampering to his feet, growling low in his throat. Fear eases its way back into Louis’ heart, his knees instinctively coming to his chest, curling in on himself.

Zayn isn’t growling at him, though. His eyes are fixed on something in the dark, something Louis can’t see, and with just a blink of his eyes, Niall stampedes out of the darkness, his bright white fur glowing under the moon. He tramples over Zayn, pulling him to ground and growling playfully. Zayn bites at him, barks loud enough to make Louis’ skin ripple.

Crawling back to his feet, Louis heads to where his cup is. Taking it in his hands, he sits on the boulder, drinking slowly. Two more wolves—one light brown, the other dark—come sailing by, rolling around, fighting. The four of them, massive in size and tragically beautiful, leave Louis without a thought process.

“This isn’t happening,” he says again, shaking his head. “No fucking way.”

One brown wolf, the light one, breaks from the pack, trotting over to Louis’ side. He can tell by the green eyes that it’s Harry, his frame nowhere near as large as Zayn’s.

“Hey,” Louis says, lamely.

Harry rests a paw on his knee, sitting down with a huff.

“You guys understand me, right?”

Harry snorts.

“I kind of thought that you’d only understand wolf, or something.”

He tips his head to the side, ears perked up.

“Stupid?”

Another snort.

“Of course.” Louis drains half of his cup.

Niall comes barreling through, knocking Harry off his feet and sending him to the ground. Harry bounces back quickly, taking one of Niall’s ears between his teeth and yanking him by it. Niall whimpers, snarls, and Louis only drinks more, unsure of what else to do.

The dark brown wolf—Liam, as Louis can only assume—takes off through the field, Zayn close on his heels. Harry and Niall follow suit, stumbling over each other and tripping all the while. They look like they’re doing burnouts or running a race—Louis can’t really describe what he’s seeing because he has no idea exactly _what_ is happening in front of him. _Wild animals_ , he thinks. That’s it. Just a bunch of wild animals running circles around each other, howling and barking and ripping their fur out.

Setting down his cup, half empty, by Zayn’s jeans, Louis stands on wobbly legs. He walks drunkenly towards the pack, hoping that he doesn’t trip and fall. The wind blows, making his shirt cling to his body, the tail flapping out behind him.

Zayn looks to him instantly, his ears flat against his head. His mouth falls open, tongue lolling out the side, and the edges of his lips pull up, as if he were smiling. What he does then has Louis laughing loudly, his sides aching. With his chest to the ground, front legs sprawled out, tail wagging wildly, Zayn begins to hop around Louis, looking more like a rabbit than a wolf. Louis takes a sudden step forward, laughing as Zayn scurries away only to come running back. They keep this up for quite some time, Zayn bouncing on his paws, Louis pretending to chase him just to watch him run, tail tucked. The others, still rolling around and running through the fields, are nothing but props to Louis now. They’re things in the background, things that don’t matter, because Zayn looks like he’s grinning, and he reminds Louis of a puppy that’s gotten too big to sit in your lap, but still tries to anyway.

Pivoting around Louis, Zayn comes up behind him, poking him hard with his snout. Louis pushes him away, saying, “No. We’re not doing this again.” But Zayn keeps poking and keeps jabbing until Louis has no other option than to run to get away.

“You’re persistent,” he yells, breathlessly. “It’s inconvenient!”

Zayn continues the chase, snapping at Louis’ heels to make him go faster.

With shoes on his feet this time, Louis runs easily, his hair whipped to the side, feet pounding against the ground. He gains as much speed as his body will allow, eyes beginning to water with the cold air. His stomach is in knots, all this running _can’t_ be good on a tummy full of alcohol, but luckily, when he reaches the edge of the woods Zayn lets up, coming to a halt.

“You,” Louis pants, praying to God that he doesn’t puke, “are an _asshole_.”

Zayn paws at Louis’ feet, flopping down on the floor. Louis means to mock his motions, to lie on the grass next to him with as little care as Zayn has, but instead, Louis stumbles, all but falling at Zayn’s side. He really shouldn’t have had that last drink.

“God, I feel like shit,” he moans, throwing his arm over his face.

Zayn whines, inching closer, his nose nuzzled against Louis’ arm.

It’s a long time before Louis speaks. His words are slurred as he mumbles, “This is weird. Not weird because you turn into a giant beast—well,” he laughs. “Okay, that’s weird, too. Don’t get me wrong. That’s fucking _weird_ —”

Zayn growls.

“ _But_ I mean this entire thing. You know what I mean?”

Zayn lies quietly.

“Like, I’m going to look back at this in ten years. Granted that your alpha doesn’t decide to eat me alive. If he doesn’t, then yeah. I’ll be living with this memory forever. _That’s_ weird.” He turns his head, eyes locking with Zayn’s. “It’s almost as weird as talking to an animal and having them understand you.”

Zayn wags his tail, the soft _thump, thump, thump_ echoing through the trees.

“I never thought—I mean, why the hell _would_ I have thought that I’d be doing this someday? But just five days ago..or-or a week—” thoughts of his mother plague his mind. “If it weren’t for you, then I wouldn’t even be here now.”

Lowering his head, Zayn nudges at Louis’ arm, as if he were trying to hide under him.

Louis isn’t sure if it’s due to the alcohol in his body, or if he’s feeling extra brave, but he asks, eyes trained on the stars, “How did you know?”

Zayn sits up, not breathing.

“You had to have known. Right? You would have heard my car ten miles away. I don’t believe that you _didn’t_ know.”

Zayn gets to his feet, walking away.

“ _Hey_ ,” Louis chases after him.

Growling warningly, Zayn’s lip pulls from his teeth, showing his canines. Louis takes a timid step back, not honestly thinking that Zayn would hurt him. But he soon understands what’s going on when Zayn walks briskly towards the boulder, where his pants are. It’s another minute before he emerges again, back in his human form. He smells of earth and grass when he stands next to Louis, eyes downcast.

“Why didn’t you run out of the way?” Louis whispers, staring at his fingers.

“You would have died.”

“I could have died hitting you.”

“Yes,” Zayn breathes out, barely audible. “Could have.”

“But since the odds weren’t, what? A hundred percent? You just—”

“I took the risk.”

Louis inhales, holds his breath. “Could I have killed _you_?”

“No.”

“Does _anything_ kill you?”

Zayn nods, eyes glossed over.

“Why’d you do it?” Louis asks, wanting to reach out and touch Zayn’s hand, or his arm, or anything, really. He doesn’t, though. Keeping his hands at his sides, Louis searches Zayn’s face, wanting answers.

“I felt it.”

“Felt what?”

Zayn finally looks to him, eyes bright in color. “Your pain.”

Louis swears it’s the alcohol’s fault. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t just tear up the way he does, but there’s knowledge deep in Zayn’s eyes that make his heart feel cold, his blood rushing in his ears.

Zayn makes no move to comfort Louis, but his jaw clenches. He swallows hard. “Why’d you want to hurt yourself?”

Taking in a shaken breath, Louis stares at the distorted grass, tears shielding his eyes, his whole body tensing. He thinks, _what difference does it make_ as he whispers words he has yet to speak aloud. “My mom died.”

Zayn’s lips part, his spine straightens.

“Ten days ago,” Louis says. “Cancer.”

“And your dad?”

“He’s been gone a long time.”

Stepping closer, Zayn keeps his head down. He whispers, “I’m sorry,” true sincerity in his voice. There’s no way for Louis to tell if he’s lying, no reason for him to think he’s not, but Zayn’s bottom lip trembles gently, his voice heavy with regret. Louis has no other option than to believe his words.

“Do you know how that feels?” Louis asks, his words broken by tears.

Zayn nods, stiffly.

Without thought, Louis reaches up, pressing the back of his fingers to Zayn’s cheek. Zayn leans into the touch, much like he did the first time Louis saw him on the porch steps, and his eyes slip shut, warmth radiating from him. There’s a tingle in Louis’ fingers, as if Zayn himself was coursing through his veins. His heartbeat steadies, his nerves untangling.

“Do you want to—” Zayn’s cut short but Harry, who prances proudly up to them, head held high. Louis can see Liam and Niall close by, watching carefully.

“Do I want to what?” Louis asks, ignoring Harry’s nose as it prods at his side.

“Go back to the house.”

“Not yet.”

Zayn nods, stepping back and giving Louis room to breathe.

“Go on,” Louis says, pointing to the others. “Go run.”

Zayn gives him a look, asking with his eyes if he’s sure that’s okay. Louis nods, shooing him away.

“Could you,” Zayn motions with his hands, telling Louis to turn around.

Louis does, heat coming to his face as he hears Zayn kick off his pants. There’s the loud sound of breaking bones again, and as Louis peeks over his shoulder, he catches only a glimpse of black fur as Zayn sprints by, body slamming into Harry’s side.

Sinking down into the grass, Louis gingerly takes Zayn’s jeans and folds them in his arms, watching as the wolves run and play. There’s a swelling in his chest that he can’t explain or ever hope to. It’s as if his soul is shifting into place, sadness leaving him. And if it’s only for the night, he’s grateful for it, happy to be able to lie soundly on the field, ears trained on the wolves, eyes fixed on the heavens. He knows that he shouldn’t feel comfortable, shouldn’t be okay with everything that’s happening around him, but he doesn’t want to fight it. It’s been so long since he was last able to enjoy something, to actually feel the earth beneath him and the world around him without wanting it to all go away. And finding solace, he thinks, in a situation that seems hopeless—well, maybe that’s just what he needs.


	4. Chapter 4

Niall’s crouched down, belly to the grass, muzzle buried between his front paws. Harry’s prancing around him, tail wagging. With his chin tipped up, spine straight, he looks to the horizon, all but ignoring Niall’s presence completely. Sitting at the dining table, Louis watches through the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows as the two wolves continue their little dance outside: Niall nudging his nose to Harry’s face, and Harry running away, waiting to be chased.

“What are they doing?” Louis asks when Liam brings him a mug of coffee.

“I don’t think you actually want to know.”

Still staring to the fields, Louis laughs into his mug. “Is it, like, flirting?”

“You could say that.” Liam sits with a soft huff, reaching for the rolled up _Portland Press_ laid in the middle of the table. He flips to a page at random, licking his thumb to better grip the pages. His stature is that of a boy with a man’s knowledge of the world, and the faint worry lines on his forehead show it.

“So,” Louis begins, clearing his throat. Liam looks up, and it’s then that Louis notes the troubled gleam in Liam’s eyes. “Are you the one that keeps everything in order around here?”

“What gives you that idea?”

“You’re always pretty calm,” he shrugs. “And collected. Level-headed, maybe? You don’t run around as much.”

Liam smiles gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I mean, I know you’re not the alpha, right? You can only have one?” Louis nods when Liam nods. “Alright, so, are you just the guy that keeps an eye on everyone?”

Setting the newspaper down, and folding his arms over his chest, Liam clicks his tongue. “I guess. Technically, we’re all betas and we’re all capable of surviving on our own. But sure, yeah. I’d say I have more authority over them than they do themselves. But it’s not because I’m any more able to hold a pack. I’ve just had more training.”

Staring over the rim of his cup, Louis furrows his brow.

“We all go through training when we’re young,” Liam says. “It’s how they decide between betas and omegas. Those who prove that they’re strong enough and have the ability to live on their own are given the beta rank.”

“Rank?” Louis scoffs, raising his eyebrows. “Sounds a lot like an army, if you ask me.”

“In a way, it is.”

“An army against what?”

“We have our enemies just as you do.”

“ _I_ don’t have enemies.”

Looking to Louis with sad eyes, Liam pinches his mouth shut. “Maybe not you personally, but your people do.”

“Are we the enemy?”

“Not quite.”

Louis sits back in his chair, sighing deeply. “I’m not following.”

“You never do,” he laughs softly, standing and scooping the paper back up. “But it doesn’t make a difference, either way.”

Watching Liam head for the doorway, Louis tries not to flail around, but it happens anyway, his cheeks heating as he asks, “Where are you going?”

Liam stops mid-step, turns on his heels. He’s smirking when he says, “The living room. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Totally,” Louis sets his coffee down and follows close on Liam’s heels, deciding that he doesn’t want to sit alone in the kitchen. It’s strange, really, how there never seems to be much privacy in the house, but Louis constantly finds himself alone in a room, or watching from an outsider’s point of view how the others interact. He’s never been one to watch from the sidelines, hating the way he feels when he’s left out. And this is what he’s telling himself as he sits on the couch, bringing his knees to his chest.

Liam’s legs are extended out, his ankles crossed over the coffee table, newspaper in his lap. “You don’t like to be alone, do you?” he asks, opening the paper.

“Not really.”

“Any reason behind that?”

“Not one that I care to talk about.” Louis leans back against the cushions, letting his body sink into the couch.

The room is cast mostly in shadows; heavy curtains lining the windows, keeping the sunlight out and the darkness in. It’s a daunting room, decorated with paintings and small statues. There’s one of a wolf mounted on the edge of the brick fireplace. The animal is snarling, eyes leering with hunger. Normally, Louis would laugh at the art, laugh at the entire situation— _werewolves with wolf statues, how hilarious_. But he can’t help but feel that it’s staring right at him, reminding him that they aren’t friends. These guys—this _pack—_ is made up of feral creatures that Louis will never be able to understand, no matter how long he stays with them, and God, how it irritates him. He folds in on himself, hugging his knees and letting his head rest against the couch.

Liam’s tone is light when he asks, “You doing alright?”

“Just a little overwhelmed,” Louis mutters, his eyes slipping shut. “You’ve got that word—enemy—stuck in my head, now.”

“I thought you got over your fear.” Liam’s still reading his paper, his attention only minutely focused on Louis. “It doesn’t affect you directly, so—”

“Why doesn’t it? Why do you keep acting like this isn’t a huge deal for me? You know once I walk away from here, I’m going to forever be afraid that any huge dog I walk by is going to turn into a person.”

“And, what?” Liam gives Louis a smile, one that a father would give an over-imaginative child. “Tear you apart? That’s not how we are. Your culture has given all supernatural beings a bad name. We’re generally calm creatures, it’s the demons you should be worried about.”

“ _What_?”

Liam laughs, softly and low in his chest. “They’re not usually in North America. Europe is where they like to spend their time, but again,” he turns his body towards Louis, giving him his full attention. “These are things that you shouldn’t worry yourself about. The less you know, the better it is for you, and once you walk away from here, Louis, you should know that it will be the end of it for you.”

With his hands smashed into his face, Louis shakes his head. He’s in the process of questioning his entire reality, wondering how much of the ghost stories he’s heard over his life are true. “End?” he asks, muffled by his palms. “End how?”

“You won’t ever see us again.”

Louis peeks through his fingers, eyes narrowed, not believing a single word spoken. “Yeah, right.”

“You won’t. We base our survival off of the ability to blend in unnoticed with your kind. To openly accept a human into our lives would be the put everything we’ve ever held sacred at risk.”

“Wait, wait.” Louis inches closer, tempted to shake Liam’s shoulders. “You’re being serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “So I’m expected to walk right out of here and never look back?”

Liam nods, and he does so in a way that makes Louis want to slap him. He’s so nonchalant, so calm in demeanor, it’s as if one shake of his head, or one simple look answers every question Louis’ ever had. “I wouldn’t put it past Tobias to move us completely.”

“Move you where?”

“Anywhere,” he shrugs. “As long as it doesn’t mess with anyone else’s territory.”

“What the fuck, man,” Louis throws his head back, stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t get it.”

“Like I said you wouldn’t. But it’s alright, because it won’t matter soon enough.”

Louis hates the way his chest tightens, the pit of his stomach fluttering as coldness spreads within him. How in the hell is a person supposed to act like none of this shit happened? What is he expected to do with this kind of knowledge? Bottle it up forever? He’s tempted to ask, to see if Liam will maybe spare him the mystery and just let it all spill out, but one glance from him tells Louis that he isn’t getting jack shit from Liam.

“Demons,” he mumbles to himself, disbelievingly as he rises from the couch, ready to lie down and give the world a break. “That’s fucked up.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Louis winds around the spiral case, keeping one hand on the railing. He pads along the hallway, scuffing his feet against the maroon rug and thinking about how perfectly a _Risky Business_ reenactment would be on this flooring. He could slip on a pair of socks and slide right across it. Something tells him that it’s already been done countless times, what with Harry and Niall running around.

Staring at his toes, Louis snickers to himself, trying to imagine Niall actually letting go and having fun. Maybe, deep down—like, _deep, deep_ down—he’s a cool guy, when he doesn’t feel the need to scare off every person that dares look at Harry in any way.

“Morning.”

Louis startles, glances up through his hair. Zayn’s standing an arms length away, dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a T-shirt. With black boots on his feet and determination in his eyes, Louis can tell Zayn’s on a mission, but for what, he can’t see.

“Morning,” Louis says back, biting in his lip.

They stand there, awkwardly and confused. Louis doesn’t know what to say, and by the look on Zayn’s face, he doesn’t know, either. Shuffling his feet, Louis moves to the side, giving Zayn room to walk by, but it’s not until he actually _does_ that Louis realizes that—nope, he still doesn’t like being left alone.

“Hey,” he calls when Zayn’s to the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“What’s up?”  
  
Zayn opens his mouth, but makes no sound. He’s more so staring at Louis like he’s grown an extra head. “Nothing,” he says, snickering. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Alright.” Zayn nods, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a mock frown. “I’m gonna—” he points to the stairs, “go.”

“Go where?”

He laughs again, amusement gleaming in his face. “Are you bored?”

“A little, yeah.” Louis pushes up onto his toes, hands stuffed in his pockets. “A lot, actually.”

“Well, uhm. I’d offer for you to come along, but I don’t think it’d be very good for you.”

“Why is it that everyone around here seems to know what’s good for me and what isn’t?”

Zayn ducks his head down, his cheeks tinting pink. “Do you really want to come?”

“I’m not doing much good just sitting here.”

Locking eyes, Zayn gives another nod, this one forced. “If you really want to—”

“I do.” Louis wiggles his toes, gives Zayn an apologetic smile. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Definitely, yeah. I just want to make sure _you’re_ okay with it.”

“I think I’m to the point where I’m just about okay with everything.”

“Maybe that’s not a good thing.”

Louis bunches his shoulders up. “Maybe not. But,” turning on his heels and heading for his room, Louis points to his feet, “let me get my shoes.”

When he returns, Zayn’s sat at the top of the stairs, his elbows on his knees. He looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. “You ready to go?”  
*

They follow the gravel road, taking it through the woods. Zayn doesn’t talk and neither does Louis. With his hands in his pockets, balled into fists, Louis keeps a distance between him and Zayn, taking smaller steps and walking slowly. Zayn, not seeming to notice Louis at all, has his eyes on the forest floor, minding potholes and fallen branches whilst Louis finds himself tripping over just about everything in his way.

“Are you good with flowers?” Zayn asks, finally breaking the silence.

“What does that even mean?”

“Like, color arrangements and such.” Walking to a small clearing, Zayn motions to a cluster of wildflowers. Grabbing a handful of purple, Zayn holds them up. “Flowers.”

“I see that.”

“Are you good with them?’

“I can’t say that I am.”

Shrugging, Zayn picks another handful. “That’s alright. Just tell me if they look like shit.”

Louis snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. He watches, amused, as Zayn walks around the clearing, grabbing as many flowers as he sees. He has a bunch of purples and pinks and whites in his hands, holding them close to his chest.

“How about these,” Louis picks a blue flower. “They’re nice.”

Taking the flower gingerly from Louis’ hand, Zayn examines it, his eyes narrowed. Louis can’t help but envision Zayn in his wolf form. He imagines that his ears would be flat against his head, his nose tipped down.

Zayn adds the blue flower to the others. “They’re nice,” he agrees.

Feeling strangely proud, Louis smiles to himself. Zayn adds more blue to his bundle, and once he’s deemed them worthy of whatever it is he’s doing with them, he grasps them tightly and continues through the woods. It’s when they’re at the forest edge that Zayn gives Louis a stern look, one that says _this is your last chance_.

“If you want to go back, that’s fine,” he says. “You don’t have to stay.”

“What is the big deal, huh?” Louis rolls his eyes, shoving at Zayn’s shoulder.

“I mean it, okay?”

Louis shrugs, walking past him and leading the way. “Whatever, man. Stop with all your secrets.”

Giving a heavy sigh, Zayn keeps his eyes on the floor, speeding up to gain the lead. Louis has half the mind to run past Zayn and see what he does, if they can keep up this game of _follow the leader_ , but there’s a look in Zayn’s eyes that tells him he shouldn’t mess around. Not now, anyway.

Continuing on their way, Louis thinks they may as well be in two different worlds. Zayn keeps to himself, his fingers moving lovingly over the flowers, as if they’re all he has left. Louis doesn’t know if he should find it strange or endearing. He’s about to ask what exactly makes the flowers so damn interesting when he’s stopped by the sight of a wide, open clearing bordered by a short and fragile wire fence.

“What’s that?” Louis asks, taking a step back. From where he stands, he can only see rose bushes, a wooden bench that’s oddly placed, and a small abundance of what looks like stepping stones.

Zayn’s already making his way across the clearing, picking the petals off of the flowers and keeping them tightly kept in the palm of his hand. “It’s where the fallen alphas are.”

“ _Fallen_ ,” Louis takes a timid step forward. “As in _dead_? Like, that’s a graveyard?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to call it a grave _yard_. There’s only five alphas buried there.”

“Yeah, that’s a graveyard.”

Zayn’s almost to the fence now, a good twenty feet away. “As I said, if you want to go back, be my guest.”

Louis _wants_ to go back, he really does, but the last thing he needs is to get lost in the woods and die of exposure. “No, I’m fine.” He hugs himself, walking slowly, and ignoring the look Zayn gives him. “It’s cool.”

Zayn heads in, still plucking the petals from their stems. The fence is a barrier between them, Louis kept on the outside, Zayn wandering around inside. The ground feels strange beneath Louis’ feet, as if it’s a kind of ancient burial ground. Stepping over the fence, his toes begin to tingle, the earth seeming to hum as he walks. It’s an abstruse feeling that renders Louis nearly incompetent as he closes the space between him and Zayn, standing only inches behind where Zayn has stopped.

“It’s weird,” Louis whispers, his voice carrying with the wind.

“What do you feel?”

“I have no idea,” he laughs despite the way his heart skips a beat, his fingers now buzzing with whatever is in the earth. “It’s like,” he flexes his hands, “magic.”

Zayn smiles brightly then, his lips parting. It’s like his entire face gleams with pride. “They were rather incredible wolves,” he puts his head down, chin to his chest, the petals nearly all gone from the flowers. Extending his hand and letting his eyes shut, Zayn begins to sprinkle the flowers onto the ground, his lips moving around unspoken words.

Up on his tiptoes, peering over Zayn’s shoulder, Louis looks down at the stone set before them. There’s a name etched on the face of it: Patricia Malik. A weight settles heavily on Louis’ chest, a ringing beginning in his ears, body feeling light. Taking a weary step back, Louis breathes out slowly.

“Are you okay?” Zayn asks, not taking his eyes off of the stone.

“Who was she?” Louis’ voice is shaken, dread caught in his throat. He takes another step away when Zayn turns to him, his eyes downcast.

“My mother.”

“Yeah,” Louis tries not to run. “Thought so.” He can’t breathe, his throat is swollen shut, and when he tries to swallow, it’s as if he’s choking.

“Hey.” Zayn reaches out, touching Louis’ hand. “Let’s go back, okay? We can go—”

Snatching Zayn’s hand within his own, hoping to keep him from leaving, Louis breathes out a simple, “No.” When Zayn says nothing, only searches Louis’ face with eyes too bright and too intense, Louis stutters out, “You came here for a reason, right? You want to be here…and-and I don’t—I said I’d come.”

“But you don’t have to be here.”

Swallowing down all the things he wants to say, Louis whispers, “I want to stay.” He eyes the wooden bench he had seen before. Stowed away in the corner behind the roses, it’s a sad, lonely sight, rotted by age and weather. Louis strays towards it, not realizing that his hand is still kept tightly in Zayn’s until all that are touching are their fingertips, clasped together, their arms extended out in the space between them. Louis stares at their hands, loosely touching, kept only together by their will to not let go. Bringing his eyes up to Zayn’s, Louis points with his free hand towards the bench. Zayn nods, his feet planted firmly on the ground. He’ll stay—at least for the moment.

With their bond broken and the ground breathing beneath him, Louis makes his way to the bench and sits with a silent sigh. A cold wind picks up, the rose bushes swaying, the trees leaning towards the North. It’s an overwhelming amount of space around them, the graveyard seeming to be sporadically placed. He wonders if Tobias had decided this would be a good area to bury everyone, or if it’s where the first alpha had fallen—maybe it was where people collectively died. The thought makes Louis’ skin crawl, death just below his feet, death waiting there, though it feels like souls are trapped beneath him; souls that have become nature; become their surroundings. _The circle of life_ , he thinks, tipping his head back, and letting his eyes slip shut.

It could be because Zayn’s only a few feet away, mourning his own loss, or the fact that despair hangs heavily in the air, reminding Louis of what life is truly about, but as he lets his mind wander, his muscles relaxing into the bench, Louis thinks of his mother.

_Hey_ , he says inwardly. _This is probably rude on some kind of level seeing how I’m around a bunch of dead people and none of them are you. Maybe it’d be better if I waited to say all this but,_ he swallows hard, his throat beginning to itch. _I wanted to tell you that I miss you—_ a whine slips past his lips; he bites it back, _and that life is really fucked up. I bet you know that already, you were dealt a pretty shitty hand, but if you only you knew what’s really out there._ A soft smile touches Louis’ mouth as he wonders how his mother would have reacted to a real, live werewolf. He wouldn’t put it past her to run with them herself, to roll around in the grass, collecting twigs in her hair and leaves on her blouse. She’d have ran far and wide, without a single worry in life. _I wish it had been me_ , he thinks bitterly, his forehead creasing. Unshed tears lie behind his eyelids, locked up tightly. _I don’t want to cry, and I don’t want to make you feel bad. But for the record_ , he pauses, breathing in deeply. _For what it’s worth…I wish it had been me_.

Louis sniffs hard, clenches his jaw shut. Tipping his face to the ground, he opens his eyes to find Zayn standing right before him, his hand held out. Louis doesn’t know what Zayn wants, but one good look at him and Louis figures he’d better do whatever it is. The whites of Zayn’s eyes are tinted red, his face flushed. Shaking his extended hand for Louis to take notice, Zayn says,

“Give me your hand.”

Louis does so with trembling fingers. Zayn’s nails brush against the sensitive skin of Louis’ fingers, his hand opening up and placing a light weight into Louis’ palm. Staring down at what he holds, Louis sees the petals from the blue flower.

Zayn sits, clears his throat. “Think of them as little letters,” he explains. “You blow out a dandelion to make a wish. So, release the petals and—”

“Make a wish?” Louis stares at the color in his palm; stares at the vibrant blue petals with the faint white tips.

“No. You send a message with them.”

“To whom?”

“To your parents.”

Louis’ eyes threaten tears, his breathing becoming shallow. Flowers for his parents, petals holding messages—he looks to the grave Zayn had been standing before, stares at the grass and the colors littered across it. Dozens of petals, dozens of messages. Louis wonders how long Zayn’s been leaving these letters for his mother.

“What if I don’t want to let them go?” Louis mumbles weakly, touching a single petal, wishing he had never picked the flower in the first place.

“They’ll wither and die in your hand.” He brushes the back of his finger to Louis’ jaw, the touch feeling like fire. “You _have_ to let them go.”  
  
The petals blur, their blue turning to a mess of colors as the tears finally come forth, spilling down Louis’ cheeks. He chokes back a sob, all but throwing the petals away, wanting them gone. He shakes his hand, the wind blowing them free, and they fly—but only to God knows where. Louis has his face buried in his palms, his whole body wracked by violent sobs. He gasps for air, wanting his mom, wanting his dad, wanting his bed and to be home, but if he leaves then he has nothing. And to feel Zayn so real and so alive only a touch away, for Louis to know that he can find comfort in another living person—it’s everything he’s never had.

“That was supposed to make you feel better,” Zayn says. His tone is frantic, hands waving all around. He touches Louis’ arm, pulls his hand away, then touches again—his body seeming to shake.

Suppressing his cries behind one hand, Louis gets a good look at Zayn, and to his own surprise, Louis feels like laughing. Zayn’s face is that of utter terror. His eyes are wide, his lips apart, the tops of his teeth barely visible within his mouth. It’s like he’s silently screaming for help, because he doesn’t know what the hell to do with the crying man next to him.

Louis wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can’t. His heart aches too much, his eyes burning with tears. There’s an urge deep in his bones that makes him want to curl into Zayn’s side, his face buried in his neck, or in his fur, or just in him completely. Laying a calming hand on Zayn’s arm, Louis hopes it’s enough. He doesn’t think he can speak, and surely doesn’t trust his voice not to break.

Zayn inches closer, his forehead resting to Louis’ shoulder. “It gets easier,” he whispers, linking his fingers with Louis’. “It never fully heals, but you learn to live with it. Sometimes you’ll think of them at the most random times, but there will be a day when it won’t be painful anymore. You’ll think of them, and you’ll smile.”

Willing himself to calm, Louis inhales deeply; exhales. Using both hands, he cups either side of Zayn’s jaw, bringing them eye to eye.

“Can I ask how she died?” he whispers.

“She was killed keeping her family safe.”

Louis’ blood runs cold. “ _Your_ family?”

A nod. “My pack.”

“Who killed her?”

Zayn pauses, dropping his voice down to the smallest of whispers. “Hunters.”

“Werewolf hunters?”

“They typically hunt all supernatural creatures. But, in Washington, where we were, they’re mostly wolf hunters, yeah.”

“Humans?” Louis asks.

“Humans,” Zayn repeats.

The urge to apologize is at the tip of Louis’ tongue, but for what, he isn’t sure. His stomach somersaults as Zayn’s eyes gloss over, his sadness dwindling away. Not much happens with time, Louis thinks. Yeah, you get used to the loss, but really, you never accept it. You learn to mold yourself around the ache, to build yourself another way to accommodate it.

“She was an alpha,” he mutters, staring back to the grave. “Like, _the_ alpha?”

“Before Tobias.”

“He took over after she…?

“Yeah.”

“But if you were in her bloodline, and you were the last surviving person of your family, then shouldn’t the stature have gone to you?”

Zayn sighs, puffing out his cheeks. Wiggling himself out of Louis’ hold, he scrubs at his eyes. “I was only sixteen. I couldn’t be alpha.”

“And that’s it? Even though you’re an adult now, you still can’t be alpha?”

“Given the survival rate for our pack these days,” he scoffs, “I’ll take that as a blessing. Besides, if anyone’s going to get the rank, it’ll be Liam.” Zayn’s top lip lifts in a mock snarl. “He’s better with the code, anyway,” he grumbles.

“What’s the code?”

“Honestly? To stay away from humans. To keep out of their business and to stay clear of other packs and their territories. These days, everyone settles everything with a fight, and Tobias isn’t one for violence. Liam knows how to talk his way through things.”

Louis waves a hand in front of himself, blinking hard. “You’re saying Tobias isn’t violent? As in, he doesn’t like to hurt people?”

“God, no.”

Louis’ mouth falls open. “And I’ve been scared this whole time?”

“I told you not to be.”

“Oh my God. You couldn’t have told me then? Why—”

“If I’m not mistaken,” Zayn smirks, “only a few days ago, you wanted us all dead.”

“Yeah, well. Things change.” Louis hangs his head, groaning to himself. “If I’m gonna be completely honest with you, and you have to promise not to make some kind of snide comment—”

“Do you actually think I’d do that?”

“No,” he swallows hard. “I don’t really want to leave, like, at all. I’d rather stay here.” Turning to Zayn and expecting to see him smiling, Louis gets nothing but a nod.

“I don’t want you to go,” Zayn says, understanding in his voice.

“Why is that? I don’t fucking _get it_ ,” he leans forward, cradling his head in his hands. “It’s like you know everything that I feel, and it’s _weird_ , okay. I know I say that a lot, but I really mean it this time. It’s like you’ve gone through it all already and you just…you _know_. How do you know _all the time_?”

“It confuses me, too—”

“But, do you think it’s weird?”

“Sometimes.”

“Like when?”

“The first night. But not now.”

Louis shakes his head, agreeing that _no, not now_. Now it feels alright; now it’s everything he’s wanted.

“How am I supposed to act like none of this happened?” he asks with a broken, dried voice. He feels fragile and breakable, like if he’s touched too much, or not held gently enough, he’ll shatter. “Liam explained how Tobias could move you guys. I don’t really know what that means, but he said pretty clearly that I won’t see any of you again.”

Zayn stands without word, offering his hand. “We should go back.”

“Are you avoiding the subject?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“Why not now?” Louis’ verging on tears, angry that he’s constantly left in the dark, angry that he has to say goodbye without explanation. “Please.”

His eyes drowning in sadness, Zayn smiles dully. “Harry’s looking for you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but not now. If he comes out here looking for you, then he’s going to know something’s up. And if he knows it, Niall knows it. Then, Liam. I’d rather keep them out.”

Trying not to glare as he gets to his feet, Louis takes Zayn’s hand and asks, though it sound more like a demand, “Promise?”

“Of course, I promise,” Zayn touches Louis’ cheek, his fingertips ghosting over the dried tears. “You can trust me.”

Louis wouldn’t doubt it for a second, not even when he hadn’t known a single thing about Zayn. Even then, he’d have still trusted him, because the vulnerability locked in his eyes, the pain inside of him that Louis can see perfectly—can nearly taste—is so much like his own, he might as well be talking to himself. And if you can’t trust yourself, then who do you have?

“Tonight?” Louis asks.

“Tonight,” Zayn says.

*

The walk back is quiet. They stay side by side, shoulders brushing every now and again. Louis stumbles more than once, bumping into Zayn more often than not, though he voices no complaints, his hand resting at the small of Louis’ back to steady him.

“He’s excited about something,” Zayn mutters as they climb the hill towards the house. “Liam probably gave him the keys to the car.”

“What does that mean?”

“That he can go into town. It’s really the only time he’s ever worked up.”

“What, does that, like, never happen?”

“We have to get the okay.”

“You guys aren’t allowed to go to town?”

Zayn gives a light shake of his head, clears his throat. “We can, but not excessively. There _are_ hunters here, but so long as we respect the boundaries, they leave us alone.”

Louis stops walking, his mouth falling open. “Hunters? _Here_?”

“Everywhere.”

“Are _you_ guys everywhere, too?”

“You’d be surprised how many packs are in North America.”

Scoffing, Louis continues towards the house, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. “You say that, but honestly, I don’t think I’d be very surprised by anything anymore.”

Zayn smiles, an honest to God _smile_ that takes up most of his face, his eyes squinting. Louis tries not to stare, but it’s just so hard when joy is literally radiating through him.

“I think you fit in pretty well around here,” he says.

Harry’s bouncing around on the front porch, Niall leaning against the house, laughing with him when Louis and Zayn make their way towards the house. Harry all but runs down the drive, ready to jump on the both of them. Avoiding the attack by mere inches, Louis scurries up to the porch as Harry tackles Zayn to the ground.

“Why’s he so happy?” he asks, watching Zayn and Harry shove each other around like they’re a couple of kids.

“Movie night.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means Harry gets to pick what we all watch and,” Niall smirks, his eyes burning brightly, “he really loves movies. You’d be happy too if you were locked up in here all—” he pauses, glances to Louis out the corner of his eye. “Never mind.”

Stifling a laugh, Louis shakes his head, heading for the door.

“Hold up,” Niall grabs the knob, keeping the door shut. “I think he wants you to go.”

“Are _you_ going?”

“Of course.”

“Do you ever let him out of your sight?” Louis fights off a grin, watching the way Niall’s brow furrows, his whole face pinching up.

“No.”

“ _Never_?”

“No.”

“Well, why not? What would happen?”

Niall’s eyes turn troubled, losing their color. He speaks timidly, “Anything could happen if I’m not around.”

“But chances are nothing would, right?”

“You don’t know that.”

Slightly taken aback by the emotion in Niall’s voice, Louis pauses, looking back towards Harry. With the way he so easily throws Zayn off of him, rolling him in the dirt, proves that he’s able to take care of himself. Or maybe Zayn’s just being nice and giving him the upper hand. But it’s hard for Louis to believe that a shape-shifter really would have any sort of trouble defending themselves.

“How long have you been together?” Louis asks, laughing as Zayn gives Harry one solid push to break free.

“Two years.”

“And you’ve been following him around nonstop for all this time?”

“It’s in his DNA,” Zayn says, walking up. He’s rubbing his shoulder, a scowl on his face. “It’s like when humans buy huge dogs—they keep them for protection,” he smiles, touching Niall’s chin. “Nice little guard dog.”

Niall pushes Zayn’s hand away, scoffing. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

“Why not? It’s a nice day. Harry gets to go into town, which means that you do, too. You should cheer up, big guy.”

“Fuck off.”

Louis snorts out a laugh, trying again to go inside.

“Wait, wait,” Harry grabs at the back of Louis’ shirt.

Niall whispers, “Told you,” a smug smile taking over his face.

“Want to come?”

“Uh.” Looking between Zayn and Niall, then back to Harry, Louis shrugs. “Sure.”

“It’ll just be us,” and Harry grins, patting Niall’s shoulder. “Why don’t you stay with Zayn?”

“What?”

Zayn smiles, “C’mon. We gotta get the television downstairs, anyway.”

“Oh, you actually _have_ a TV?”

“Yeah, we do. We don’t live like cavemen.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Liam likes to keep it upstairs,” Harry explains.

“Only because you two,” Zayn motions between Harry and Niall, “like to break everything you come into contact with.”

Waving Zayn off, Harry rolls his eyes, tugging at Louis’ sleeve. “Let’s go before it gets dark.”

“It’s only, like, one, though.” Louis says.

“It’s a long drive.” Harry pulls Louis towards the Chrysler, sidestepping him to get to Niall. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, kissing Niall quickly.

Louis hates the way Niall looks at Harry, lost and confused, the way a child would look to their mother on the first day of school, not sure why they’re being left, and his _eyes—_ Louis sighs, feeling more like the culprit than an innocent bystander.

With Harry behind the wheel and Louis tucked into the passenger seat wearing an old, black hoodie he found on the floorboards, they start off down the back roads. Having lived in Bangor for most of his life, Louis knows the countryside of Maine is beautiful, but the backside of Portland, with its trees and its forests, really is the best part of living in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you know what you’re going to get?” Louis asks, wanting to rid the car of its silence. He’s already spent fifteen minutes listening to the engine rev, the gear shift change. “Something scary, maybe? Since it’s so close to Halloween?”

“That’s what I was thinking, actually,” Harry grins brightly and sweetly and too wide for his face. “There’s this one that came out last year with uh,” he squints, trying to read the street signs as they speed past. “Jennifer Lawrence.”

Louis groans, throwing his head back. “You mean _House at the End of the Street_?”

“That’s the one!”

“It _sucked—_ majorly.”

“I kind of figured it would, but that’s okay,” he clicks his tongue. “She’s pretty great on her own, though.”

Louis scoffs and shakes his head, Harry reminding him of the little brother he never had. As they continue on, the Top 40 playing from the radio speakers, Louis leans his forehead to the window, feeling the cool glass against his skin. Though he doesn’t feel sick, all that crying really did a number on him; his nose won’t stop running, his eyes burn, his head aches. He doesn’t want to smear his snot on the sleeve of a hoodie that could possibly belong to Niall, or Liam for that matter—how would he explain that to a wolf, anyway? _Oh, yes, those are my bottled up emotions on your jacket. Forgive me_. Louis rolls his eyes, using the heel of his palm to wipe at his nose.

“So, what did you and Zayn do this morning?” Harry asks as the winding back road turns to the highway. “You seem a little upset.”

“Is that something you werewolves can sense, or what?”

“Sort of. Everything has it’s own scent, but you smell like salt water,” Harry raises an eyebrow. “Tears, maybe?”

Waiting to merge onto the highway, Louis catches Harry’s gaze, locks it. He’s fidgeting with the sleeves of the hoodie, winding the fabric around his hands, wanting to curl his arms up inside of it. “That’s creepy,” he whispers, feeling like a child.

“We should talk about something, actually,” Harry says, enforcing the childlike feeling. “If that’s alright?” He waits a moment for Louis to nod. “I like you, okay? I want you to know that, and I think I can speak for everyone and say that we _all_ like you—even Niall. I know he comes on strong. I mean, I _know_. And it’s hard for him to really care about anyone—”

“Other than you.”

“Right. So, it means a lot that he doesn’t mind having you around.” There’s a pause, a slight change of atmosphere. “But I know Liam talked to you earlier about how we’ll be leaving once this is all over with, and I don’t want you to take this personally, but with Zayn—you can’t get too close.” Harry sucks air through clenched teeth, possibly hearing the way Louis’ heart rate quickens. “Zayn doesn’t like listening to rules, and he rebels a lot when it comes to Liam and Tobias. I think it has something to do with his past, but—”

“You mean his mother?”

Harry stills, eyes fixed on the horizon. “How do you know about that?”

Remembering what Zayn had said, how reserved he had been for the others to find out about their meeting, Louis rushes out, “He only mentioned it,” hating the way Harry glances at him, staring at Louis’ chest then to his face. Lie detected. Louis rubs a hand over his face, wishing he hadn’t come along. “It’s not a big deal, you don’t have anything to worry about. He only shares a few things with me. We aren’t, like, friends or anything.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Are you saying that Zayn is my friend?” Louis scoffs out a laugh. “Hardly. You can’t really be friends with the person who kidnapped you.”

“You don’t look at it that way anymore, though.”

“How would you know?”

Tension is wound tightly in the space between Harry and Louis, making the car seem smaller, more silent. Harry turns down the volume on the radio, sighing deeply, eyes never leaving the road.

“Be careful with him, okay? With the whole thing. It’s forbidden, you know? For us to be close to humans. That’s why I said not to take it personally because it’s not your fault, it’s your make.”

“Isn’t that racist?”

Harry suppresses a laugh. “It’s your people who murder all of ours. I know it’s not your problem, but it’s something we always have to keep in mind. And I don’t mean that humans just take us out back and pull an Old Yeller, okay? They cut our throats, they rip us limb from limb, and they think it’s _funny_. They love to see werewolves squirm under their touch, and it doesn’t matter that we’re animals. Teeth aren’t any kind of match for a gun and arrows.”

Uncomfortable, Louis shifts in his seat. He doesn’t want to talk about this, doesn’t want to hear about the things that have happened, or what _could_ have happened to Zayn’s pack. It’s one thing to imagine it all yourself, but another to hear about it in detail.

“Okay,” Louis mutters. “I get it. You don’t want me around Zayn—fine. But you should talk to him about it and not me. I’m not going to shut him out and pretend he doesn’t matter. He saved me. How do you just turn away from something like that?” Surprised by the emotion that seeps into his voice, making it quiver and break, Louis leans his head back on the window, letting his eyes shut. “I’m not going to be the bad guy,” he whispers, breath puffing on the glass.

“I know how he feels,” Harry says, thickly. “When you do that, you know—save someone—you start to feel responsible for them. I don’t know your story, Louis, but I know that you understand him on some level. Which is good for the both of you, but bad in the long run. Because it won’t just be your head Tobias will want if Zayn doesn’t take a step back. Do you get _that_?”

Louis takes a shaken breath, burrowing further into the hoodie.

“Zayn isn’t going to listen to the rules because Zayn doesn’t care. So, I— _we_ need you to abide by them. We can’t lose a member of our pack to all of this. Something so easily avoided, you know?”

“You mean had he just let me keep driving.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“This is how I’m taking it.”

“Well, _stop_. He saved you, right?” Harry crowds around Louis, waiting for him to agree. “This is your chance to save him.” They stare at each other, Harry fretfully trying to watch the road, but keep his demeanor all the same. “Do you understand?” he asks, putting finality on the conversation.

Louis nods, grasping the hoodie sleeves tightly. It’s not his fight, he reminds himself as Harry pulls into a Blockbuster parking lot some time later. It’s not his fight and it never will be.

Harry beelines it to the New Release wall, eyes scanning the film titles. Louis, walking slowly, leans against a rack of ninety-nine cent movies, watching as Harry humorously pushes every movie that doesn’t star Jennifer Lawrence aside.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis says, feebly.

“Yeah. What’s on your mind?”

“How did you meet Niall?”

Harry pauses, looking over his shoulder. He’s crouched down on haunches, fingers running across DVD cases. “I don’t think you actually wanna hear that story. You’re already afraid of him.”

Coming closer, Louis scoffs. “Well, now I _really_ want to know.”

Sighing, Harry smiles to himself, chews on the inside of his cheek. “Let’s see…” he taps a finger to his chin, making Louis rolls his eyes. “First things first. Tobias isn’t my original alpha. I’m from another pack, and Niall…well, he was pretty much a prized beta at the time. You know, like, Tobias’ right hand man.”

“Is that why he’s so…” Louis makes a face, not sure which word he’s looking for.

“On edge? Yeah. He’s a born fighter. Brought up through the ranks by his mother. His dad was an omega, so a lot of the other wolves didn’t think he’d quite make it, but,” Harry shrugs, smiling fondly. “He did. But when I met him, it was during a night run with my old pack. We crossed the territory line, and of course Tobias would never go anywhere without his highest ranked wolves. Liam was there, too, which was a good thing, I think.”

“And that was it? You just knew?”

“Well, first Niall had to prove his worth. Once he did that—”

“Worth? What is a wolf’s worth?”

“Their ability to fight,” Harry says like it’s the most obvious thing. “When a wolf claims their mate, they have to prove that they can take care of them. No one wants to be with someone who can’t take on an alpha wolf. That leaves you helpless to hunters and, you know, _other_ creatures.”

Louis’ right next to Harry now, his face only inches from Harry’s ear. “Did he kill someone?” he asks.

“Nothing that bad. But Niall _did_ have to take him down.”

“Down how?”

“Don’t look so scared. Believe it or not, but Niall’s not a murderer. It’s not really in our genetic makeup. We only hunt when we have to, which is hardly ever now that we’ve become regular domestic people of society.” Harry blushes, tipping his chin to his chest. “Niall just had to put the alpha in his place and show that if he _wanted_ to, he could kill him easily. Which he could. From there it’s history.”

“And when you saw him for the first time, you just knew?”

“That he was my mate? Hell no,” Harry snorts, rising to his feet. Louis mirrors his actions, following Harry through the store. “The first time I saw Niall, I wanted to scratch his eyes out. He kept bugging me and getting in my space, crowding me. Which is extremely irritating no matter who you are, you know?”

Louis nods, keeping on Harry’s heels.

“But once I figured out what was going on and what his intentions were, I let it happen.”

“So, you weren’t attracted to him, or anything?”

“Oh, fuck yeah, I was.” Harry furrows his brow, still staring the movie cases down. He gives a soft, “Aha!” his hands trailing over the movie he had been looking for. Tucking it under his arm, he grins. “Mating is a whole other thing completely. I can’t even really explain it. It’s like you wanna rip out their throat, but fuck their brains out at the same time,” Harry grips the DVD for emphasis. “I mean, it’s messed up. Like, _super_ messed up. And Niall had the worst jealousy issues I’ve ever heard of. In fact, had this whole thing happened—” he motions between the two of them, “a year and a half ago, you wouldn’t have made it through the front door. Niall would have bled you dry and that would have been it.”

Louis absently reaches for his throat, swallowing hard. “So…problems. Okay.”

Tongue in cheek, Harry nods, looking far too proud. “One year, Tobias had to actually chain Niall up during a full moon because he couldn’t keep himself under control. It’s a little cool, I won’t lie. Knowing that you have that affect on someone is pretty awesome. Thank God he got over it, though, I wouldn’t be able to lock him up every month. He whines _so_ loudly, you’d think someone was killing him. Are you sure you didn’t want anything?” Harry asks, catching Louis off guard. He points to the surrounding movies. “You can get whatever you want.”

Shoving his hands in the hoodie’s pockets, Louis gives the racks a single glance, shaking his head. “That’s alright. I’ve got a headache. I’ll probably call it a night when we get back to the house.”

“Not until after the movie, right?”

Louis goes to say _no_ , but is greeted by Harry’s big, shining green eyes, pleading Louis not to turn him down. “Right,” he says without really thinking. He’s sure Niall would be pacing back and forth behind him by now, had he gone with them. “I’ve seen it, though, so don’t expect me to be great company.”

“You’ll be better company than the lot back home, I’ll tell you that now.” Harry swings an arm around Louis’ shoulders, steering him to the checkout.

*

Louis falls asleep on the ride home only to be woken up by hands grabbing at him, hoisting him to his feet. He stirs, blurry eyed and dazed, to find Niall holding him up.

“You awake?”

Louis moans, swaying on his feet.

“Good enough. Can you walk or do I have to carry you?”

Fighting Niall off, Louis wiggles free from his grasp, taking one slow and sloppy step at a time towards the house. He can hear Harry telling Niall something behind him, but he’s too tired to care. The smell of popcorn is prominent from the front porch, the entire house smelling of butter. Rubbing at his eyes, Louis surprises even himself when he croaks out a soft, “Zayn?”

Footsteps, rustling, and then Zayn’s popping his head around the kitchen corner, looking in on the living room. “Yeah?”

Stunned, Louis stands there, half asleep. He doesn’t know what he needs Zayn for. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Making popcorn?”

He smiles, nods. “Yeah. You have a good time?” He’s wearing a pair of sweat pants and a long sleeved shirt, making his shoulders look more lithe than usual. It’s a good look, Louis thinks absently as he waltzes towards the kitchen, his steps uneven and swaying.

“I think so, yeah. Harry got a god awful movie, though.” He plops down at the dining table, groaning loudly.

“Did you pick something?”

“No. Not really in a movie mood.”

Disappearing for only a second, Zayn comes back and sets down two ibuprofen tablets on the table, pushing them gingerly towards Louis’ hand. “For your headache,” he says.

“How’d you know?”

“I can see it in your eyes.”

Louis doesn’t know why he blushes, but he does, keeping his eyes set on the table. “I need—” Zayn hands him a glass of water. “Wow. You’ve got answers for everything, huh?” He pops the pills in his mouth, swallowing them down with one drink. “Even though I haven’t really been doing much these past days, I feel worn out. How stupid is that?”

“It’s emotional stress.”

“Probably,” Louis says without much notice. He’s staring at the table, zoning out, eyes following the patterns in the wood. He mumbles, “I don’t feel good,” getting to his feet, mind numb. He’s certain that the headache is really a migraine. Black blotches are forming before his eyes, making it hard to see. Long car rides always do this to him; it’s a strange form of motion sickness that he’s never outgrown despite the many times his dad had said he would.

“Do you want to go outside?” Louis asks, already heading for the sliding door. “It’s hot in here,” though it’s not, his fingers feeling like ice.

Zayn’s practically walking on Louis’ heels as he follows his lead into the backyard. It’s not quite dusk yet, the sun still sitting on the horizon. The sky is a deep red, only amplifying the pain above Louis’ left eye. He sits on the deck with a heavy huff, his shoulders slumping forward.

“Wouldn’t you rather lie down?” Zayn asks, sitting next to him. “It might be better for your head.”

“No, I need the fresh air.”

They don’t talk as they watch the sun set, sinking lower behind the trees and hills, taking the colored sky with it. Louis’ stuck in a half-stupor, letting his eyes adjust to the night sky as his brain seems to wither away to nothing.

“What are they doing inside?” he whispers.

Zayn waits a moment before saying, “Niall’s making Harry something to eat,” a light pause. “Liam’s setting up the movie. I think if we go inside now, we’ll catch the trailers.”

“It’s a terrible movie,” Louis grumbles. “But I told Harry I’d watch it. Not yet, though,” he cranes his head back, the wind ghosting over his cheeks. He inhales deeply, taking the world into his lungs, exhaling softly. It settles his head, making him feel like an ordinary, functioning person. Looking over at Zayn and seeing that his gaze is fixed firmly on him, Louis starts. “You don’t have to look so worried.”

“You said you don’t feel good.”

“No one else is worried.”

Zayn scoots closer, tipping his face down and nudging the bridge of his nose to Louis’ shoulder. “You should eat something. That could be what’s wrong.”

Ignoring him, Louis brings a hand to cup the side of Zayn’s face. Stroking his thumb over his cheek, Louis feels his fingers begin to tingle. “Do you feel that? It’s like little sparks in your skin.”

Zayn nods, eyes slipping shut.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know.” He leans into the touch, nuzzling his face into Louis’ hand. Louis’ sure that if Zayn were a cat, he’d be purring.

Pleased with his reaction, Louis lets his fingers graze over the sharp edge of Zayn’s jaw, down to his chin, the very tips of his fingers touching the corner of his mouth. There’s a catch in Louis’ throat as Zayn’s lips part slightly, his fingers touching them; caressing them. His skin is soft and warm, the faint stubble of a beard poking through on his top lip. Louis feels the roughness on the pads of his fingers as he touches Zayn’s mouth, his own breathing having gone shallow. Everywhere he touches, he feels the small vibrations humming, as if Zayn were a live-wire with electricity flowing through him.

“We probably shouldn’t be out here,” Louis says, too distracted by the way Zayn’s mouth opens wider by just a fraction. “I don’t want to make anyone angry.”

“Who would be angry?”

“Harry, maybe. I don’t know.”

Zayn’s eyes flutter open as he moves out of Louis’ reach. “What makes you think he’d be angry?” There’s an edge to his voice, one Louis doesn’t like. “Did he say something to you?”

“No—”

Zayn’s to his feet, heading inside.

“Hey, _hey_ ,” Louis grabs the back of his shirt, trying to yank Zayn back to him. It’s of little use, his shoes scraping along the deck as Zayn continues to the door. “Stop, _please_ —” Louis’ flung forward, smashing into Zayn’s back as he comes to a halt. Louis wraps his arms around Zayn’s middle, hoping it will stop him from busting through the glass door. “Don’t go in there, okay? I don’t want to be the cause for more problems. It’s bad enough that I’m a pariah, don’t make them hate me, too.”

“What did he say to you?”

Looking wearily to the door, Louis shifts his weight between his feet. “Can’t they hear us?”

Zayn nods, understanding reflecting in his eyes alongside the anger. He takes Louis by the hand, dragging him down the deck steps and into the yard. Louis tries to ask where he’s taking them, but gets nothing in return as Zayn makes his way through the yard, following the faint trail left in the grass from years of use, and it isn’t until the house is almost entirely out of view that he stops, letting Louis’ hand go.

“Tell me,” he demands, softly.

“Can’t they still hear us?”

Zayn exhales through his nose, reminding Louis of a bull that’s about the charge.

Lifting his hands up, palms facing Zayn, Louis stops himself from rolling his eyes. These wolves get just about anything they want, _whenever_ they want, and Louis wishes he could just flick him on the nose and say _no_. Just once.

“He just said some shit, that’s all,” and Louis proceeds to tell Zayn (not exactly) what Harry said. He keeps it light, using improvised words and making it all sound much nicer than it really had. He’s sure Zayn doesn’t believe him since he’s tilting his head to the side, his nose wrinkled up like he doesn’t know what the hell he’s listening to. His attention perks up, though, when Louis breathes out, “Harry said being around me is _forbidden_ , and that’s a pretty heavy word. And there was also the whole _Tobias will kill us both_ thing that I really don’t want to see if it’s true.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say he’d kill me.”

“But he would kill _me_. Yeah?”

“No.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Louis’ nerves begin to dwindle, Zayn sitting right on the edge of his last one. “You seem so sure.”

“I am.” Zayn steps closer, briefly touching the collar of Louis’ hoodie. “I wouldn’t let him,” he says, casually. His eyes glow lightly, the brown turning to gold as his fingers play with the drawstring around Louis’ neck. There’s promise in his voice, a light threatening tone for whoever dared to be listening. It makes Louis’ blood run cold, a pang of guilt hitting him hard.

With a nervous laugh, Louis says, “That sounds a whole lot like you think I’m more important than your alpha.”

“I do.”

“Oh, God—” he stares wide-eyed at the ground, Zayn only coming closer. “That—” he takes a stumbling step back, trying to catch his breath. “That doesn’t fix anything. You know that right? I’m still going to be human, and your people will still hate me. And-and if Tobias heard you say that, I don’t—this is bad.”

Zayn comes closer still, hands touching Louis’ sides in a mock embrace. He tips his head down, and presses his forehead to Louis’ temple. The touch is fire, burning the side of Louis’ face, his skin—no—his entire _being_ humming with vibrations that seem to melt off of Zayn and into him.

“This is bad,” he whispers again, unable to pull away. The warmth he feels makes his bones hurt, his joints aching to touch Zayn all over, to just be _near_ him, and like the tingle Louis felt before, he wonders if Zayn can feel it, too. “Confusing, that’s what this is. I don’t _get_ it. You’re close and I feel like I’m suffocating, and your eyes keep doing that _thing—_ what is that? Why are they doing that? It’s like they’re going to burn out of your head—but that’s not even the _worst_ of it!” Louis shoves Zayn away, arms waving all around. He feels ridiculous, knows he _looks_ ridiculous, but there’s no way of stopping it. “This is _all_ fucked up. Like, looking at you now— _right_ now, I feel this pull in my chest like I’ve known you for years, and I can’t explain it. _You_ can’t explain it, and when we’re like this—” he puts a hand on Zayn’s chest, “this close. I can feel my fingers itching to touch you. Why is this happening?”

Zayn shrugs timidly, his shoulders coming up slowly only to drop down unnoticed.

“How do you feel, huh? Is it only me?”

His mouth opens, a soft croak coming from the back of his throat. “I feel strange, but not the way you do. I’m wound up, or something. Honestly, if you snapped your fingers and told me to kill someone—” Louis twitches, Zayn steps forward, “right this instant, right now…I would. I don’t care who it’d be or what would happen if I did it, but I would, and it _terrifies_ me.” The tip of his nose touches Louis’ cheek, his breath ghosting over his skin, smelling of firewood. “It makes me feel powerful.”

Trembling and scared, Louis wants to wiggle away from Zayn, to run back to the house without looking back, but his eyes roll shut instead, his body melting forward into Zayn’s chest. He whispers, wishing he could turn his face and press his mouth to Zayn’s, “Just because you feel that you are, doesn’t make it so.”

“For you, I could do anything.”

Louis screws his eyes shut, a knot forming in his throat. If he just tilted his head to the right—if he held his breath and kept his eyes shut, he would know what Zayn’s mouth feels like. If his lips are as soft as they look.

“Why?” he asks, instead, fighting himself to stay calm.

“I don’t know,” Zayn’s voice quivers, his lips brushing against Louis’ jaw, making his skin ripple with gooseflesh. “I don’t understand it anymore than you do, but I—”

Harry’s voice rings in Louis’ ears, making his stomach flip, his chest suddenly cold. Pushing Zayn away, Louis shakes his head, unable to get as much air as he so desperately needs. “I can’t be the reason something bad happens, okay?” He brings his hands back to himself, fingers tangling together. “You’re not allowed to do this— _we’re_ not allowed, so we can’t. And,” Louis lifts his chin, dignified, “we won’t.”

Louis’ whole facade shatters as Zayn’s eyes, staring hard into him, fill with hurt. His mouth is parted, teeth slowly elongating as his fangs come out, overlapping his bottom lip. He’s shaking, Louis can practically sense it himself, can feel the tremble just beneath Zayn’s skin.

Stopping himself from gripping the front of Zayn’s shirt, Louis looks over his shoulder to the house, sitting atop its hill with the windows all brightly lit up. It has the promise of life inside, of a good time not worrying about anything. It’s supposed to be a movie night where Louis can relax and watch a terrible film and laugh at all the wrong parts. He should be sitting on the couch between Zayn and Harry whilst Niall stares spitefully at the back of his head. It’s supposed to be easy.

“Let’s go back,” Louis mumbles. “Can we do that, please?”

With one swift step, Zayn puts himself right into Louis’ space, his forehead pressed firmly to Louis’, tips of their noses brushing. Louis chokes back a gasp as gravity seems to shift, his body wanting to smash itself into Zayn’s.

( _this is your chance to save him_ )

Louis moves his head just the tiniest bit, inhaling Zayn’s breath as it touches his mouth. He’s only inches away, his heat engulfing Louis; burning him alive.

( _save him_ )

Zayn growls softly, nails digging into Louis’ hips.

( _save_ )

Louis wants to cry.

( _him_ )

“I can’t be the reason something bad happens to you,” Louis says, bringing his chin to his chest, and shoving lightly away. “If Tobias did something—if anyone did anything at all to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with that. Maybe you feel like you could take on the world right now,” he moves away, ready to follow the trail back to the house, “but you’d lose, because he’s still the alpha. You wanting to hurt him is—it’s _bad._ It doesn’t take a lot to hurt a human. Tobias could have my neck broken in two seconds while you’re still trying to shift—so, please, think it through.” He inhales deeply, chest aching. “I’m not worth it.”

Pain is etched deeply in Zayn’s face, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. His hands are balled into fists so tight his knuckles bleed white, color high in his cheeks.

“Zayn—” but then Zayn’s gone. He’s running through the fields, tearing off his shirt and throwing it aside. Louis calls to him again—his voice nearly shrill when Zayn doesn’t turn back. He watches with dread sitting heavily within his veins as breaking bones echo in the woods, Zayn shifting as he disappears.

He waits a minute, taking a timid step forward. “Hey,” his voice cracks, making him groan inwardly. He’s supposed to be the strong one, but how is that going to work if he can’t get a hold of his emotions for one freakin’ minute. “I know you can hear me. Come back, okay? Please? Just come back and we’ll go home and—”

A howl courses through the night air, sounding more like a wail than anything else. It’s high-pitched, broken, making Louis’ heart skip a bit, tears touching his eyes. It sounds like a cry for help, Zayn wanting the pain to go away, but knowing that it never will.

It’s official, Louis thinks miserably to himself, standing alone in the dark. He’s now the bad guy.


	5. Chapter 5

The room is burning, the flames crackling as Louis passes by. He can’t feel the heat, but the smell of firewood is prominent, filling his senses and making his head swim. The glass in the windows has been blown out, smoldering heaps of fabric litter the floor; carpet untouched by the destruction. As Louis shuffles through the room, barefoot and numb, his skin beginning to crawl, he hears the faint whisper of a voice.

“You’re early,” it says, harsh and broken as if engulfed in flames itself.

“I’m sorry,” Louis replies lamely, still walking. Looking to his feet, he sees that he’s following a trail of red—it almost looks like blood. Heart racing, head pounding, Louis tries to fall from the trail, to step on the clean carpet and towards the flame. Anywhere to get away from the red. But as he moves, the room begins to dim, his sight becoming hazy. It’s as if someone has laid a veil over his eyes, clouding his mind.

“What are you afraid of?” the voice asks.

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“I can hear your heart beating.”

Louis inhales deeply, continuing to follow the trail. It leads him to a room where the flames are gone, everything seeming untouched by the world. Dust lingers in the air, the windows open, a cold breeze lapping at his skin. He shivers.

“Come here,” the voice says, and Louis follows.

The room starts to shrink, the walls closing in. The only light is that of the moon seeping through the windows, the white curtains blowing restlessly with the wind. Louis has his eyes trained on the far wall where photographs of faceless people decorate the floral wallpaper, acting as accents to the room. Blue petals are scattered across the ground, the carpet no longer under him. It’s been replaced with gravel, the walls no longer walls, but instead trees. Louis’ not in a room at all, he’s in the woods behind the house—the wolf house—and his heart is no longer beating; it’s stuck in his throat, strangling the sob he wants to let loose.

He can hear footsteps, faint and distorted, sounding like horse hooves on the forest floor. He tries to take a step back, but finds he can’t move.

“What are you afraid of?” the voice asks again, drawing nearer. It takes on a higher pitch, drawing out the vowels in its speech. “I know you’re scared,” and now it’s familiar, a voice Louis’ heard many, many times before. His blood runs cold as his heart swells, his eyes beginning to burn.

Stepping from the darkness of the woods, wearing a dress that reaches her feet, is Louis’ mother. He whimpers when she speaks again, her voice sounding as sweet and gentle as he remembers it to be.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, and her eyes are bright, her hair long and healthy.

Reaching a hand out, tears filling his eyes, Louis brushes his fingers against the collar of her dress, feeling the weightless fabric beneath his touch. “I’ve missed _you_.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid.”

Louis whispers a cracked and broken, “I’m not,” his body feeling light.

“Then, what’s stopping you?”

Breathing heavily, Louis shakes his head. “Stopping me from what?” and just as his voice dies, a howl rips through the air, sending chills up his spine. He looks to his left, then to his right, finding nothing but darkness and trees, their leaves illuminated by the moonlight. “Mom—” but she’s gone. His hands start to shake, his stomach twisting and turning, making him feel the urge to puke. When he looks to where she stood—hoping to see the dirt upturned, telling him that she had really been there—he sees a gravestone instead.

Louis stumbles back, the air knocked right out of him. He keeps stumbling, keeps falling until that’s all he’s doing and he’s not in the woods, he’s not in the house: he’s nowhere. It’s vast darkness around him, swallowing him whole, and just as his body collides with something hard—ground, maybe—he’s flung into consciousness, gripping his blankets with enough force to stretch their seams.

He’s back in the guest room, with the pillows thrown on the floor, tears still left in his eyes. Rattled and shaken and feeling sick, Louis crawls out of bed, his head spinning. The windows are painted black, the night sky hanging overhead. The moon is close, dipping low in the horizon. Dawn is approaching, he can feel it, can see the faint pink glow behind the clouds.

Climbing to his feet, too scared to sleep now, Louis makes his way through the hall and down the stairs, moving undetected and quiet like a ghost. There’s a yearning in his chest that makes his knees weak; his stomach queasy. The image of his mother is branded in his brain—alive and well and smiling happily. He tries not to think about the flower petals or the faceless images, how his mother had seemed to know something he didn’t. _And the howl_ , he thinks as he grabs a jacket from the back of the couch.

Louis passes through the living room, only minutely aware of Harry and Niall curled up on the couch, limbs entwined as they sleep. Hiding his hands in the jacket’s pockets, Louis pushes his way through the sliding glass door, plopping down on the back deck with the crickets’ music as his only company.

 _The dress she had been wearing_ , he thinks numbly to himself, trying to preserve her in his mind. _It had been grey—no, pink_. Resting his forehead to his knees, Louis hugs his legs tightly. _The dress had been white_. _It had been white with pink flowers and grey swirls_. It had looked like the dress she kept for special occasions; only wearing it three times in the span of her life. Once on her and her husband’s anniversary—their eighth, to be exact; again on her thirty-third birthday when he had taken her to a supper club where the meal had cost over a hundred dollars, and finally on Louis’ eighteenth birthday. It hadn’t been as lovely and vibrant then as Louis had remembered it to be all the other times, but it had still made her glow. It was her favorite dress. He thinks, maybe had she not been cremated, he would have buried her in it.

Grimacing, Louis shakes his head hard, not wanting to think of graves and funerals, wanting to go home to his own bed where he can sleep untouched by nightmares. At least there he’d have the presence of her etched on the walls. Her perfume bottles in the bathroom; her toothbrush in the cabinet. Her coat still thrown over the back of a dining room chair where she’s always kept it. He wants to go home where he can pretend to be near her. He can crawl into her bed and smell her pillows, the faint scent of her shower soap and her perfumes mixed into one, clinging to the bedsheets as if locking her existence up within them. He’d stay there until the scent withered away, until he was left with the empty smell of cotton and cold air. He’d stay until he couldn’t take it anymore; until his heart broke completely, unable to be used again.

He just wants his mother back.

“What the hell are you doing up this early?”

Startled, Louis peers over his knees, his hair hiding most of his face as he eyes Liam. Liam’s wearing a pair of loose sweat pants, a T-shirt that clings to his shoulders, dirt and grime smeared across his hands and arms. If Louis didn’t know better, he’d have thought Liam was playing in mud puddles.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Louis challenges weakly. He waits for Liam to sit down on the steps next to him before asking, “Did he come home last night?” _He_ being Zayn.

After Zayn had ran off, Louis had spent the better half of an hour trying to find him. Niall eventually came down from the house, calling out about how impatiently Harry had been waiting to start the film, when he found a dirt covered and exhausted Louis leaning against the base of an old, thin tree with weak and dying branches. He didn’t even need to ask what had happened. Louis clung to Niall’s shoulders, his mouth dry, feet hurting, and told him as much as he could without feeling like an asshole. He told Niall about the way he felt, the way his heart hammered in his chest and how Zayn had took off into the woods. When Niall’s eyes gleamed, the blues paling to almost white, Louis was afraid he was angry, that he would rip Louis limb from limb for hurting Zayn— _because that’s what happened_ , Louis told himself as he stared into Niall’s face, wanting to know what his thoughts were. But instead, Niall had taken Louis by the arm and pushed him towards the house, mumbling a very faint, very weak, “ _Go watch the movie with Harry_.”

“No,” Liam says, rubbing at his temples. He slouches in a way that makes him look like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his back, his face deep with worry lines. “He’ll come back eventually. He always does.”

“So, this happens a lot?”

“No.” Liam mimics Louis’ position, resting his crossed arms on his knees, chin on his arms. “But all the other times he’s left to do something, he always comes back.”

Louis says nothing. He’s sure that all Liam has is hope, and though Zayn doesn’t strike Louis as a reckless soul, he doesn’t think he’ll be coming back anytime soon. Sighing, Louis watches, bemused, as Liam reaches in his pants pocket and retrieves a pack of Marlboro Lights. With his eyebrows pinched together, Louis mumbles, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I usually don’t,” Liam says around the filter between his lips. He has a box of matches in his hand.

Louis waits a beat, shifts his eyes between the cigarette and Liam’s eyes, watching as he strikes the match with determination in his face. “Can I get one of those?”

Liam offers the pack.

The cigarette is a strange weight in Louis’ hand. He used to smoke on a daily basis back in high school when it was cool to be seen with a cigarette in your mouth and people didn’t comment on the fact that you’re slowly filling your lungs with tar and other disgusting things. No, it isn’t that he’s not used to smoking. Staring at the tobacco and touching his fingertip to the end of the cigarette, Louis wonders how a small paper stick filled with brown, little flakes could take someone’s life from them. How the hell had something so light and weak and fragile, something that Louis could break between his fingers without thought, have killed his mom so effortlessly?

The crackle of flame followed by the overpowering smell of sulfur fills the space between them as Liam holds up his match. He waits there, expectantly, eyes trained on Louis.

“Thanks,” Louis mumbles as he inhales, the cherry of the cigarette burning brightly. The lights that line the deck flicker off as the sky becomes brighter, the sun making it’s way over the trees.

“So, what gives?” Liam asks with a careful smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I had a dream.”

“A bad one?”

“I don’t think so.” Louis takes a drag, screwing his eyes shut as the smoke scratches his throat. “It was sort of nice. But I can’t sleep now.”

“I’m sure we have some sleep aid around the house. Maybe if you—”

“No, that’s okay. Can I get your opinion on something, though?”

Liam edges closer, nodding.

A beetle scurries across the deck steps as Louis ashes, being wary not to hit it. “When someone dies, do you think they go somewhere? Or do they just kind of linger around?” He turns his body to Liam, cigarette halfway to his mouth. “What if they stop existing entirely? Like the lights go out and that’s it.”

“That’s a bit morbid, don’t you think?”

“I guess. There’s not an easy way to bring this subject up.”

“What, death? You have a pretty healthy interest in that shit, huh?” Liam smiles around his cigarette, smoke curling around them. “Where did this come from? Your dream?” he pauses until Louis gives a feeble nod, not making eye contact. “I’m not really the best person to talk to about this stuff, but I think the best thing you can do for yourself right now is stay positive. Right? You shouldn’t think about dying or what happens when you’re gone. One day you’ll know what it’s like to die, and maybe then, you won’t want to.” He takes a drag, exhales. “But, to answer your question, I don’t think we just stop existing. That’s a pretty rough thing to think about. It links in with all that other shit where you ask yourself if life is worth it, or if anything even matters in the long run. You don’t wanna go there.”

“Well, then, what do you think?”

“I think there could very likely be an afterlife.”

“So, heaven?”

Liam makes a face, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t know about that. But something.” When Louis makes no effort to speak, his eyes narrowed and staring down at his hands, Liam continues, “Like I said: don’t worry yourself over it,” and he slides an arm around Louis’ shoulders, holding him awkwardly.

Louis thinks about leaning into him, letting himself calm, but Liam’s touch alone does nothing for him. He’s still thinking too much about his mother and how her hair had looked, and his fingers won’t stop trembling, the cigarette all but shaking as he holds it. He does lean in though, a halfhearted attempt at a hug that (thankfully) Liam accepts.

“We all get our answers sooner or later,” he says into Louis’ hair, patting his shoulder before releasing him.

Louis doesn’t know what to say, but just as his mouth opens to give some kind of made up response, Harry’s voice chimes from the doorway.

“It’s a little early to be poetic, Li,” he says.

They both turn, Liam only shrugging, Louis unintentionally shying away from Harry’s gaze. He’s rubbing sleep from his eyes, dressed in low riding shorts and a T-shirt. Niall appears behind Harry, touching his arm gently. Harry turns around and they seem to speak, but not with words, their mouths never moving. Louis hates to admit that the two of them interest him more than not, and when Harry nods to something that Niall doesn’t even say, Louis’ curiosity is peaked. Ignoring it, he faces forward, digging the lit end of his smoke into the steps, grinding the cherry into nothing. Seeing Harry only makes his chest ache, thoughts of his warning ringing in his head. He wonders if Harry had anticipated this outcome.

“Are you two hungry?” Harry asks.

Liam nods, turning to Louis, but Louis’ already getting to his feet, flicking the cigarette into the yard. He walks stiffly with his hands in his pockets, head down and avoiding the looks he knows he’s getting from the others. As he pushes by Harry, saying a gentle, “Excuse me,” that goes unnoticed, he makes his way back to the guest room. Feeling exhausted, eyes heavy and itching, Louis still doesn’t think sleep will come to him. The bed looks inviting, though the memories of his dream keep him at bay. Slipping on his shoes, Louis flips the hood of his jacket up and pads back down the stairs, unable to stay in the house any longer.

*

He walks until his legs are tired and his feet feel numb. He walks until he doesn’t know where he is or how to get back, and it’s then that he finally feels okay. To not see the house looming in the distance and to not feel the others crowding around him, wanting to talk; to be near. Alone, in the middle of the woods, he doesn’t realize that he’s searching for the spot his mother had stood in until he’s glaring at the floor with an artist’s precision, trying to catch the right light, to see the trees from a different point of view. 

A soft wind blows as Louis crouches down on his haunches, touching the earth and feeling the jagged pieces of dirt between his fingers. He lays his hand flat to the soil, spreading the rocks and the weeds around, the coarse grounds leaving his hand feeling numb. He’s looking towards the sky with its soft wisps of cloud floating by, the promise of rain high in the wind, when a vibrant something catches his eye. It takes him a moment to register what it is he’s looking at. Lying with its petals in full bloom is a blue flower—the same kind Louis had found before.

Running his tongue over his lower lip and pulling it between his teeth, Louis doesn’t move; doesn’t even _breathe_. Eyes wide, blood rushing in his ears, he shakes his head disbelievingly. _There’s no way. No way, at all—_ but something inside of him tells him he’s wrong. The wind is still blowing, but the flower is not fluttering away. It’s caught in this one spot, its petals swaying but never moving. Carefully, Louis reaches for it, scooping it up gingerly within his hands. It hums between his fingers, seeming to vibrate his very core.

With a roll of his eyes, Louis mumbles, “Alright, alright,” under his breath, and with the flower cradled in his palms, he whispers to it, “How does this work? What do I tell you?” He feels ridiculous, positive that he’s lost his mind somewhere in the last week. Nothing makes sense anymore. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” he tells the flower. “So this has to mean something.”

Sitting in the dirt with his legs sprawled out, Louis shuts his eyes. He says the only thing he can think of saying: “I need to talk to you. I know you probably don’t want to see me and I can understand that. I mean, I can _totally_ understand that, okay? But I need you, and I’m sorry.” He rolls onto his back, stares up at the treetops. “Zayn, please,” and very carefully, Louis begins to pluck the petals from the flower, trying his best to keep them whole. Lumping them all into his hand, Louis flings one arm over his eyes, and lifts his fist with the petals. The wind blows, and he feels as each and every petal is whisked away from him, sailing through the woods.

The ground is soft, the jacket, oversized and warm, feels like a blanket wrapped around his body, and as Louis stares into the crook of his elbow, the world masked with darkness, he lets his eyes flutter shut, his mind melting to nothing.

He doesn’t sleep, but rather lies comatose, unable to move and with no desire to. The woods are quiet, birds chirping softly from somewhere far away. They sound happy, Louis thinks. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but as he moves his arm off of his face, it’s stiff and cramped, his muscles sore from being pinched. There’s a weight at his side, large and heavy, and as he shifts, the weight moves with him.

Louis throws his hand to his side, his eyes still closed. Feeling with his fingers, he trails along hard bone and fur, warmth radiating through his body. A cold, wet nose nuzzles against his palm, making him smile. He says nothing as he curls onto his side, his knees partway to his chest, arms held close to his body. Zayn, using only the toes of his paws, inches closer, his body crawling against the ground. He has his nose tipped into the dirt, his ears flat, eyes sad.

“Wow.” Louis snorts out a laugh, tucking his face into Zayn’s neck. “I didn’t think that’d actually work.”

Zayn presses his body into Louis’, practically rolling onto him. With his paws mirroring Louis’ hands, Zayn lies by his side, facing one another.

“I had a dream. It was really strange. My mom was there.” Louis nods when Zayn’s eyes widen. “I know. It’s weird, right? Totally fucking weird. I woke up and I felt like it was the end of the world or something. My hands were all shaking and—” he scoffs. “Whatever.”

Zayn doesn’t take his eyes off him. He’s stuck motionless at Louis’ side, ears perked up. There’s a faint whining coming from him that Louis ignores.

“She said she missed me.” He runs his fingers through Zayn’s soft fur. “I think it was really her.” His fingers brush against something smooth caught in the fur around Zayn’s neck. Plucking it from his hair, Louis brings it to his face and finds a blue petal. He holds it in front Zayn’s nose, placing it on his muzzle. Zayn makes no effort to remove the petal, but his lip _does_ curl as Louis’ hands brush against his long whiskers. “Sorry. Does it hurt when they’re touched?” he pulls at one whisker in particular, giving it a gentle tug. Zayn growls, smashing his nose into Louis’ cheek. “I was only kidding!”

Whining louder now, Zayn moves closer, his nails digging into Louis’ shoulder. With a small huff, he lays his head against Louis’ neck, nuzzled up against him, breathing heavily.

“I can’t talk to you this way.”

Zayn snorts.

“Can you change?”

He nibbles at the collar of Louis’ jacket, pulling at it like they’re playing tug-o-war.

Louis can’t help the blood that rushes to his cheeks, turning his face a deep shade of red. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t have clothes. You can use this,” he sits up, shrugging off the coat. “Wrap it around your, uh—” he motions to all of Zayn. “Your junk.”

Taking the jacket between his teeth, Zayn trots away, tail low and tucked between his legs. Louis wonders if he’s embarrassed, or if nudity is just something they’ve all come to accept. It’s a long moment before Zayn returns holding the jacket around his waist as if it were a towel, and his body, tanned and lithe with fragile bones, is all Louis really notices. His chest feels constricted, his throat swollen shut. There’s an urge to run and tackle Zayn down, to cling to him with every inch of Louis’ own body, but he doesn’t, willing his bones to stop aching.

Zayn sits, glaring at his hands.

“Do you think it was her?” Louis asks, inching closer, desperate to be close to him. “Like, _really_ her?”

He nods, finally turning to Louis and giving him the attention he wants. “She got your message.” He places his hand to the side of Louis’ jaw, cradling him.

“How is that possible?”

“You should know by now that anything is. The modern world works so hard to teach you that magic isn’t real, but just maybe,” his thumb caresses over Louis’ lower lip, “it is. Like when you spoke, just now, I heard you. But it wasn’t a physical sound. You hear it here—” Zayn touches his fingertips to Louis’ temple. “It’s a feeling you get. Like a pull. A calling, I guess.”

“You’re telling me the flowers are magical?”

“No. What you give them makes them that way.”

Louis leans into Zayn’s touch, sighing deeply. It’s hard to rewire your brain, to look at all the things you were once told weren’t real, and to find that the universe is indeed limitless. _Existence_ , he thinks as Zayn presses their foreheads together. _Existence is limitless_.

“She told me not to be afraid,” Louis whispers in a raspy voice. Clearing his throat, he tips his nose to brush against Zayn’s. “But I don’t know what she meant.”

“Maybe you do. You just have to think a little harder about it.”

But Louis’ tired of thinking and tired of not knowing what to believe. All he knows is that right here—right this second—he has Zayn and he’s not going to mess it up. If his mother said to not be afraid, then he’s not going to be—not of anything.

He moves quickly, Zayn gasping with surprise when Louis wraps his arms around Zayn’s chest, holding him close in an embrace. It’s not really a hug since Zayn isn’t hugging back, but Louis has a death grip on him and that’s good enough for him.

“You should go home,” Louis says when Zayn’s arms finally hold him. “I think they’re worried about you. Liam, definitely.”

“There isn’t a day that Liam isn’t worried about something.”

“I honestly don’t think he expects you to come back anytime soon.”

“Then, maybe I shouldn’t.”

Louis looks up through his hair, finds Zayn’s gaze. “Go home,” he says.

There’s a flicker of light in Zayn’s eyes, the color changing just a fraction brighter. There’s no strain in his voice, no fight; nothing. “Okay.”

“What, that’s it?”

A frown creases his forehead, head tilted. “Yeah,” he says as if he doesn’t quite understand Louis’ question. “Are we going now?”

“Probably should. It’s cold anyway and you’re pretty naked.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

Louis titters softly, pulling out of Zayn’s hold and righting himself. Rising to his feet, he begins, “You should cha—” but Zayn’s already gone, walking out of Louis’ line of sight. Brushing off the seat of his pants and fixing the collar of his shirt, Louis stands, waiting for Zayn to return. There’s a bustling of leaves, the _pat-pat-pat_ of paws on the earth, and Louis knows. He smiles to himself, starting to walk away, the footsteps drawing nearer. Then he’s running through the woods with Zayn on his heels, laughing loudly and feeling free. The jacket is left in the dust, sprawled over a boulder to be forgotten for months to come, and as Zayn rips through the forest, his feet kicking up dirt, blue petals follow close behind, carried by the wind.

*

Niall makes Chicken Parmesan for dinner and Louis doesn’t realize how hungry he is until he’s face first in his plate, scarfing down the entire meal before anyone else. He knows Zayn’s watching him from across the table, probably wearing some kind of goofy grin that Louis would laugh at. The thought alone makes him smile.

When the meal is finished and the plates are cleaned, Louis finds himself in the vacant chair next to Zayn, practically cuddled up into his side. He can’t quite tell whose chair is whose, and he might as well be sitting in Zayn’s lap, but none of that matters to him. He’s vaguely aware of Harry whispering things to Niall in the doorway—things that Louis can’t hear, but he’s sure everyone else can. It’s okay though, he thinks as he takes Zayn’s hand, holding their palms together and trying to focus on the vibrations he feels. It warms his hand and his entire arm, making his body numb, blood rushing to his cheeks. He’s too busy thinking about the tingles in his fingertips to notice when Niall cuts across the room, eyes fixated on Louis and Louis alone. Zayn straightens in his chair, confusion in his eyes, and when Niall lifts Louis up by his arm, a grin plastered on his face, Zayn’s up and out of his chair in an instant.

“Fuck off,” Niall mutters without much bite, still smiling. Then he’s dragging Louis through the house and towards the backyard, down the deck steps and off into the garden. Louis doesn’t get a chance to ask what in the hell is going on until all five of them are standing outside of a concrete shed.

“You need some fresh air,” Niall explains a few minutes later. He’s rummaging around, the sound of items clattering to the floor, others being thrown as he looks for whatever it is he wants. “What’s your take on football?”

Louis shoots Harry an uneasy glance, biting in his lower lip. He imagines running through the fields with the football tucked under his arm, four wolves on his tail, ready to tackle him down. He grimaces. “I think it’s an easy way to break some bones.” He rolls his eyes when Niall’s smile only widens. “Bones that don’t heal as quickly.”

“He has a point,” Harry says. His breath ghosts over the back of Louis’ neck, making him shiver and squirm away. He isn’t surprised that he gravitates directly into Zayn’s side, face pressed into Zayn’s shoulder. Harry gives him a tight smile, seeming to brush it off. “Why not something with a little less contact?”

“Baseball?” Liam offers.

“Not my thing, really,” Louis mumbles.

“Badminton?” Niall says, holding a racket out of the shed. “That’s pretty contact free, isn’t it? You just hit the damn thing around. No reason for touching.”

Scrunching his nose, Louis shakes his head. “What else have you got in there?” He thinks about stepping closer and peeking through the doorway. He’s curious to know what exactly a bunch of wolves do in their downtime, but before he gets a chance to move, Niall’s holding out a soccer ball and Louis’ entire face lights up. “Yes!” he snatches it from Niall before he can put it back. “This, I can play. Let’s go with this!” He’s bouncing on his toes without notice, his voice high with excitement.

Running towards the clearing, Louis leaves the others in the dust, not caring that they aren’t following him because he has a goddamn soccer ball and if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s this. He places the ball in the field, resting his foot over it and determining where they should set up the goal posts. “Those two trees,” he points towards the woods, “can be one goal. Then, over here—” he motions behind himself, but stops when he sees that the four of them are all standing shoulder to shoulder with their heads ducked down. “What’s wrong?”

Harry laughs softly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He joins Louis in the field, tugging Niall by his arm the entire way. “We’re all pretty shit at this game,” he admits. “We sort of don’t know how to play, exactly.”

“You just kick the ball,” Louis says. “We can play teams. You go ahead and decide how you want to split it up, but it’s really easy.” Explaining as best as he can, Louis tells Harry the basic rules of the game and points to the goals. Niall’s not really listening, and Louis can’t tell if Harry is either, but Zayn’s joined them now and he’s staring at Louis with intense eyes. Louis’ sure he can see Zayn’s gears grinding as he tries to take in the information.

“It’s really simple,” Louis says some time later with a shrug. “How are we doing the teams?”

“They’ll be uneven,” Niall points out. “How will that work?”

“Two wolves on each side,” Liam says. “That sounds pretty fair to me. The two of you,” he points to Harry and Niall, “against the three of us.”

“We’ve got this!” Harry shouts, taking the ball and running. “We’re gonna win, right?”

Niall gives a nod, his jaw clenched. He takes his spot by Harry, not moving more than a couple feet away from him.

“Spread out if you can,” Louis tells them. “Let’s go!”

The first half hour is spent with Louis doubled over on the ground, unable to stop laughing as he watches Harry trip over Niall’s feet, sending them both to the ground. Liam winds up with a bloody nose some time later, courtesy of Zayn’s elbow, and there’s a moment when Louis actually believes that someone is going to end up dead when Liam tackles Niall into the grass for kicking him in the shin.

“Teamwork!” Louis shouts. “This is all about teamwork, guys!” Except no one is bothering to listen. Zayn’s chasing after Harry and Harry’s trying not to step on the ball as he’s kicking it around. He isn’t even running in a straight line, his footing off, stumbling more than once. Finding a weak spot in Harry’s play, Louis charges him, not caring if he gets mowed down. He manages to swipe the ball, taking it clear across the field, avoiding Niall’s thunderous footsteps coming from somewhere behind him. It’s pretty terrifying, he thinks as he’s running full force, keeping his eyes on his feet. Having a group of people chase after you is scary enough, but knowing they can shatter you to tiny bits and pieces with just a flick of the wrist really puts a morbid twist on the entire thing.

“Hey, hey!”

Louis brings his attention to Liam, who’s flailing over on his left, arms waving frantically.

“I’m open!”

Laughing quietly, Louis kicks the ball over. He knows he’s able to make the shot himself and if he really wanted to, he’d be able to stomp both Harry and Niall into the ground; make them realize that _yes_ , humans are pretty good at some things. But Liam looks so excited for the opportunity and color is high in his face, lips pulled away from his mouth in a giant smile.

When he gets the ball, he stumbles at first, making Louis groan inwardly. But then he’s off and he running faster than Louis had expected from him. Nearing the goal, Liam pulls back his foot, ready to strike and Louis’ watching with his hands gripped into fists, his heart hammering in his chest. He sees Niall make his move, darting across the field towards Liam but with just one blink, Niall’s gone and lying on the floor, shouting in pain as Zayn pulls him down. It’s technically cheating, but Louis doesn’t give a shit at this point.

Liam kicks, and he scores. His arms raise instantly, a shout echoing through the woods.

“ _Did you see that_?” he yells, punching the air. He runs to Zayn, shoving him around. “That was a point!”

“I thought this wasn’t a contact sport,” Niall says, defensively. He’s rubbing at his neck, Harry standing nearby with amusement in his eyes. “That was definitely contact.”

When Zayn scoffs and waves Niall off, laughing out, “It doesn’t really matter,” Niall’s eyes narrow. He frowns deeply. Louis can see him and Harry locking eyes, talking with unspoken words. Harry’s mouth curves into a smile as Niall begins to walk off and back towards the house.

“Wait a moment,” Louis says, wanting to run after him and bring him back to the game. “What’s going on?”

Harry gives a gentle, “Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

The games starts back up and Louis had thought the guys were ruthless _before_. Now it’s all shoving and snarling and tripping each other. He has to keep his attention on all feet at all time, terrified that he’s going to end up with a face full of dirt if he even so much as blinks. _And they wanted to play football_ , Louis thinks as Zayn tumbles to the field, landing wrong on his shoulder. There’s a loud _crack_ followed by a shout as Zayn grips his arm, writhing in agony. An ache forms in Louis’ chest, and he’s sprinting across the field without a second thought. But by the time he reaches Zayn’s side, Zayn’s to his feet, rolling his shoulder experimentally.

“You okay?” Louis asks breathlessly.

Zayn smirks as he nods, hooking a finger under Louis’ jaw. “Just fine,” he says.

“I can’t keep up with this,” Louis says, ready to plop down in the grass and pass out. His heart is going a mile a minute, his hands shaking. He feels like he’s going to puke and he hates it, not knowing why he so suddenly feels horrible. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’ll take a lot more than a fall to break me,” and Zayn winks, sending little shivers up Louis’ sides.

“Hey, but maybe we should lighten up, yeah?” Liam says, hands on his hips. Sweat is rolling down the sides of his face, his shirt damp. Breathing heavily, he points to Zayn. “No more tackles. Let’s keep it clean. This is supposed to be Louis’ game, after all.”

Louis, feeling strangely proud, heads for the ball. The game doesn’t improve much as the boys keep pushing and shoving. Liam even partakes in their antics, knocking Zayn out of his way even though they’re on the same team. It’s another five minutes of falling and laughing and too many limbs flailing about before Louis sees his next opportunity. With the ball between his feet, Louis runs until his legs are on fire, and just as he comes up on the goal, leg pulled back and ready to strike, a flash of white blurs his vision. He gawks at the field, wondering where the ball went. It was _right there_ and now it’s—

Sat with his tail wagging and the soccer ball clamped awkwardly between his jaw, is Niall. His fur is ruffled, standing on end along his back. He’s daring Louis to come and take it from him, daring him to make another play.

“We didn’t agree on this!” Louis shouts, pointing accusingly at Niall who only snorts.

Harry jogs by, shedding his shirt and tossing it aside. “Well, this is the only way Niall knows how to play nice,” he says with a smile.

Louis stares as Harry continues to undress, unsure if he’s angry or amused. Playing against animals isn’t exactly his dream come true, but he knows for a fact that they can’t play any better with four legs since they have yet to master the ability of two. He crosses his arms over his chest, his voice taking on that of a whining child.

“Fine. You want to play this way?” he glares at the other two. “I’ve got two of my own, you know!” and he turns to Zayn, pleading with his eyes. “Do your thing,” he whispers.

Zayn stares for a moment, confusion painted all over him, and it’s not until Liam starts taking his own clothes off that he understands. Louis waits patiently with one hand out, ready to take Zayn’s clothes and fold them neatly. He doesn’t notice that he’s all but _staring_ at Zayn as he disrobes, but when Zayn catches his eye, a smug smile on his mouth, Louis turns away, feeling himself blush.

“You can watch,” Zayn teases. “I don’t mind.”

“Just take your damn pants off.”

He folds Zayn’s clothes, setting them in a pile, and with his eyes burning holes in the field, he waits until all of them are done shifting. It’s intimidating, to say the least, to look into a field and have four sets of challenging eyes glaring at you. It doesn’t matter that they’re only playing a game or that Louis knows he won’t really get hurt—and even if he does, Zayn will be there to rip anyone apart who dared to do it—but it’s having four wild animals snapping at your feet and at each other as you’re running after a soccer ball, hoping to God that you don’t fall and get trampled to death.

It’s madness from there on out. The wolves won’t stop batting one another with their sharp claws, snarling and yelping when one of them gets bitten too hard. Tufts of fur are flying and normally, Louis would be laughing, but he has the ball and he’s trying so hard not to let Harry weasel his way between his legs. It happens, though, Harry swatting a paw at Louis’ feet, tripping him by accident. There aren’t any apologies though. Harry instead runs wildly with the ball, using his snout to push it across the fields.

Zayn comes up behind Louis, prodding him with his nose.

“What?” Louis asks, shoving him away. “You’re too handy with that thing.”

Zayn nuzzles him again.

“I know, I know. I fucked up. It’s okay, though. We’ll just…get it back,” he stands there already knowing that it’s highly unlikely that he’ll be able to swipe anything from Harry. He has a set of claws large enough to gut Louis in an instant. It’s probably best just to sit this one out. But then Zayn’s pressing his forehead to Louis’ legs, shoving him to get into the game. “What do you want me to do? I can’t just _go in there_!”

Zayn crouches down, growling playfully.

“Not the time, Zayn.”

He continues to bounce around, batting at Louis’ feet and nipping his legs to get him to move.

“I don’t know what you want from me! If I go in there, then you better be my defense. Got it?” Zayn snorts, tipping his head down. “Alright. I’m trusting you, so don’t let me get mauled.”

Louis starts off at a slow jog, speeding up until he’s sprinting. Zayn’s by his side, running with his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, fur blown back by the wind. The other wolves turn to investigate the intrusion and just as Harry realizes what’s going on, Louis charges through. He kicks for the ball, Zayn rolling Harry through the grass and a second later, Louis’ heading for the goal, chest heaving as he pushes himself. His shot comes into view, his body vibrating with anticipation. As he brings his leg back, thigh muscles screaming in protest, he kicks and he does it hard, watching as the ball sails through the air, flying right between the trees and bouncing out of view.

“ _Yes_!” He waves both his arms above his head. “Hell, _yes_! This is how you play soccer, fellas,” he beams, grinning wide enough to hurt his jaw. Niall’s right behind him, sitting with a huff. He snarls, his paws stomping against the earth. “I’m sorry,” Louis laughs out. “We won’t do it again, okay?”

Zayn starts to prance back and forth, his tail wagging, his mouth pulled into what looks like a smile. Louis can feel the pride in the air, coming off of Zayn in waves like he’s just conquered the world. Liam howls from his side of the field, happily wiggling about.

“I think we’ve won,” Louis says, ignoring Harry’s glare. “Let’s call it a game, okay? It’s getting pretty dark,” he looks up and spots the moon, white and faint in the partially lit sky. “There won’t be enough light for me. So,” he turns back to the wolves, hoping the jumble of vocals he hears are their way of agreeing. “Go ahead and, uh, get dressed. I’ll get the ball,” and he heads off, walking quickly. His arms are starting to feel numb, the temperature having dropped a couple degrees. As the wind blows, he shivers, his shirt sticking to his chest and making it worse.

He thinks of how he should have brought a jacket, but thankfully he has shoes—always grateful for the shoes. Scouring over boulders and rocks, Louis pushes through the bushes that line the woods, squinting through the darkness for the ball. It’s sat at the base of one large and leaning tree that looks like it’s going to topple over at any given moment. Continuing towards it, Louis puts out his hands, ready to snatch it and go. He doesn’t like the way the woods feel at night, like there’s something hidden in the shadows. Technically, there could be—it’s the wilderness after all—but he shoves these thoughts away, scooping the ball up. And that’s when the sudden feeling of fear overwhelms him. It hits him from nowhere, knocking the air right out of his lungs. The hair on his arms stand on end, his breath shortened. Timidly, Louis takes a step back with the ball in his arms and is ready to run. He’s sure it’s only his imagination playing tricks on him, but the closer he is to Zayn, the better he’ll feel.

One step back, two steps back, and then there’s a snarl, low and threatening, coming from beyond the trees. It seems to wrack Louis to his very bones, sounding off in his head. A growl. The crunching of leaves beneath feet. Frozen in place, Louis wills himself to calm down. In his head, on repeat like a broken record, he pleads for Zayn, wanting him near; to hide behind him and never have to face another fear.

The growl turns into ragged breathing, the sound of shuffling drawing nearer, and just as Louis’ about to run away, to hide behind a tree or maybe climb one just to get out of reach, a red-haired wolf, appearing to be two sizes bigger than Zayn, steps from the darkness, lips pulled away from its teeth.

Louis does the only thing he can think up: he screams. His throat aches instantly, burning as he tries to scurry away. The wolf, with its glowing hazel eyes, appearing yellow and menacing, pounces on Louis, throwing him on his back hard enough to cut his scream short, choking on his own spit. There’s a large paw on either side of his head, massive fangs in his face. All Louis can hear is the wolf growling, all he can see are those eyes.

He hears the sound of trampling feet, barking and howling as the wolves close in. Zayn’s leading the pack, teeth bared, saliva dripping from his fangs. He barrels through, knocking the red wolf on its back, but it does little to break its spirits. Back on its feet in an instant, the red wolf takes Zayn by the throat, ripping him onto the ground and shoving a paw over his windpipe. There’s whining coming from behind Louis, from the others who have their heads down, muzzles to the ground. Harry’s looking up with worried eyes, and Liam’s trying—desperately so—to keep himself in place.

Zayn yelps, kicking for freedom, but he submits all the same, whimpering when he’s released. The red wolf lifts its nose to the air, shaking its whole body and ruffling its fur. It then looks to Louis with darkened, cold eyes.

Swallowing hard, Louis tries not to breathe as the wolf passes him by. He whispers a soft, “Are you the alpha?” to which he receives no answer. Terror sits heavily in the pit of his stomach, twisting his tendons into knots, his head pounding with a migraine. He’s forgotten that death is still an option that Tobias is considering, and as the red wolf bounds towards the house, the others following it in a single file line, Louis’ certain that his future will be cut short.

Looking over his shoulder, Louis sees that Zayn hasn’t moved. He’s still lying in the woods, belly up, and when Louis tries to touch him, to feel his comforting heartbeat, Zayn shies away. He scrambles to his feet with his head hung low, not giving Louis the slightest of glances.

*

The hazel eyes and the red fur belong to a woman named Alice Hadaway, and although she isn’t the alpha, she is still just as terrifying. With a long mane of fiery red hair that brushes just above her waistline and nails filed into sharp claws painted black, she’s the epitome of fear. Sat with a straight spine and her ankles crossed, hair spewing over her shoulder and bunching up in her lap, she snaps her fingers, asking Liam to bring her coffee. Once he does, she clears her throat and finally looks to Louis.

“So, you’re Him,” she says. “The Big Mystery.”

Louis doesn’t know how to respond. He merely shrugs, his hands knotting together in his lap. He can’t bring himself to look at her. Her eyes hold too many emotions, her face stone cold.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Alice says, setting her mug onto the coffee table. “You must understand that it’s a bit disconcerting to see a human so close to this place, and with the boys so riled up; there were just too many emotions to decipher through.”

“That’s, uh,” Louis looks to Zayn, wishing that he didn’t have to speak. “That’s okay.” His voice is shaken, giving him the deposition of the cornered and frightened prey. Though, it’s exactly how he feels.

Alice continues, “I know what you’re thinking. But to answer your question: no. Tobias isn’t with me tonight.”

“Then why are you here?” Zayn asks. He’s slouched against a far wall, his shoulders slumped and arms crossed. His voice, annoyed and defensive, hangs heavily in the air. “If he’s not here, that is. You don’t stray too far from him.”

Calmly, she replies, “He’s in town.” Louis’ blood runs cold. “I’ve come to let you all know that he’ll be here tomorrow. I can’t say when, but knowing him, it’ll be early. And _you_ —” she points one thin and boney finger in Zayn’s direction. “Watch your tongue with me or I’ll bite it off.”

Zayn growls low in his chest, straightening his stance.

Looking back to Louis, Alice smiles kindly. “Boys, would you please be gentlemen and give me a moment alone with your guest?”

Harry’s the first out of the room, pulling Niall along with him. Liam lingers, seeming to want to speak, but not knowing what to say. He blurts out a hurried, “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will, love. Thank you.”

And they’re gone. Except for Zayn.

“I said alone,” Alice whispers.

“I’m not leaving.”

She’s to her feet in an instant, moving gracefully and quickly. Louis has half the heart to brings his knees to his chest and hide away behind them. She’s not a tall woman and she’s very thin _—_ fragile, almost _—_ but as she moves there’s a way about her that makes everything seem small in comparison. She has the stature of a goddess, all sharp and powerful lines and threatening glances.

Stopping only inches from Zayn, she says with malice in her voice, “You’ve gotten unruly since the last time I saw you. Care to explain what that was out there? Attacking _me_ like I’m the threat!”

“You were going to hurt him!”

“I was _not_. And besides,” she lifts her head defiantly. “I was acting on pure instinct, and you know that. Do you think Tobias keeps me around because I’m _soft—_ like _you_?” There’s a pause, the room filling with silence. Louis can hear the blood rushing in his ears, can hear his own ragged breathing. “Louis,” she begins. “Please, calm down. You’ll give yourself a heart attack with how fast your blood is pumping.”

Feeling faint and embarrassed, Louis tucks his chin to his chest, eyes focused on his fingernails. There’s dirt beneath them, his skin dry and peeling around his nail beds. He thinks for one hysterical moment that he needs to cut them, but quickly dismisses it when Alice whispers vehemently to Zayn.

“Is there something you need to tell me?”

His response is quick. “No.”

It’s painfully awkward, the room stuffy and cold. Louis chances a glance towards the others and finds Alice walking slowly towards him. His heart travels into his throat.

“May I sit?” she asks, gesturing to the vacant spot next to him. When he mumbles a halfhearted _yes_ , she lets herself sink into the couch, her posture never slouching. Holding out her hands with her palms up, she wiggles her fingers and says, “Give me your hands. Come, come. I won’t hurt you.”

Terrified, Louis places his hands into hers, their palms together. He can see his fingers trembling against her strong hands, her skin soft and smooth stretched over stone-hard bone. He doesn’t want to look at her, but as her eyes slip shut, he can’t seem to turn away. Her face, poised and emotionless, only twitches once as her eyes roll beneath her lids. Mouth parted, breathing evenly, she looks ever more intimidating. It’s a moment before she flutters her lashes, eyes opening, the color having been drained and replaced with a hazy grey.

She cradles one of his hands between both of hers and squeezes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says. Her eyes shift minutely towards Zayn. There’s disappointment in her face, her jaw clenched tightly shut. Louis can see the muscles under her skin move as she speaks. “I’m here on behalf of Tobias, of course, but you seem like a fine young man. Your priorities are sorted, which I can admire. I’m not sure who to thank for that, though I believe Zayn will be thanking _you_ tomorrow once this is all over with.”

Zayn makes a sound; Alice snaps her fingers. He hushes up.

“I don’t want to overstay my visit. We’ll have all day tomorrow,” she winks, gaining nothing in return from Louis. “I’m here to warn you. No, don’t look at me that way, no one is going to hurt you—not that I know of anyway.”

Louis relaxes, just barely.

“I’m going to tell you one thing, and one thing only. You must understand it thoroughly. It’s a matter of your life, of course.”

Louis says nothing.

“Nod.”

He does.

“Good. Now, listen to me.” She leans in closer, her hands still wrapped tightly around Louis’. “Do not lie to him. Under any circumstances, do _not_ lie. You understand? Nod.”

Again, he nods.

“Tobias is a very cautious man. I’m sure that you’ve been told much about him, and even if you haven’t, just know that he won’t partake in any of your games. He won’t listen if he senses that you’re being dishonest. And I mean about _anything_ ,” she looks to Zayn. “Anything at all. You be completely true to him, and there won’t be any problems. He bases his opinions on his own knowledge. Nothing these other boys say will deter his mind once it’s been made up. Which can go either way for you. As long as you keep your chin up and show no fear, he will take to you very well.” She releases Louis’ hand and straightens out her top—a borrowed shirt from Liam that hangs loosely on her small shoulders. “I like you,” she says as if she were only talking about the weather. “You seem smart, apart from your actions which have landed you here. But yes. Smart is a good word for you, I think. Tobias will like that about you.”

Louis tries to smile, just to show that he’s taking her words to heart _—_ that they’re helping him, at least slightly. But he can’t. His mouth is stuck in a permanent frown, his forehead creased.

Alice inhales deeply, her eyes closing for only a second. “Fear,” she says. “It’s the sweetest scent to a wolf. Did you know that? It’s weakness and submission all wrapped in one, and it’s a welcoming mat for death.” She grins, her teeth, a pearly shade of white, glisten maddeningly against her reddened lips. “You’ll do fine tomorrow, Louis. There’s no need to be afraid. He’s a very kind man once you get to know him.” She stands then, rubbing her hands together. As she passes Zayn, her eyes burning holes into him, she says, evenly, “I expect _you_ to keep your head. Get rid of these silly notions and thoughts you’ve locked up in that mind of yours. Because there is _no_ happily ever after to this situation.”

Zayn stiffens, his jugular standing out predominantly against the taut skin of his neck. He says nothing.

“Thank you for your time,” she says to Louis, another soft and kind smile enveloping her face. She places a single finger to her lips, motioning for them both to hush, and with few swift strides, she’s to the living room door, her hand wrapped around the knob. Quickly, she flings it open and in tumble Harry and Niall, falling into heaps on the floor. “Glad to know you’ve missed me,” she says, stepping over their bodies. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” And then she’s gone, and Louis thinks he’s going to puke.

Harry’s crawling quickly to his feet, scrambling up onto the couch and plastering himself into Louis’ side. He waits a moment before asking, “Did she touch you?”

Louis startles, tears kept locked in his eyes. He nods feebly, eyes trained on Zayn. Worrisome glances make their rounds through the room. Harry looks to Niall who looks to Liam who’s staring intently at Zayn who does nothing. He’s looming there in the corner, acting as a guard. When Louis shifts on the couch, Zayn shifts against the wall, as if mirroring his actions.

“Why’d she do it?” Louis croaks out, gingerly touching the hand Alice had taken. He can still faintly feel her fingers against his bones.

“She has the gift of sight,” Niall explains. “It’s the main reason Tobias keeps her around. She can see all the little things in your head, and all the thoughts you’ve ever thought. It’s surprising she hasn’t gone mad. What with all the fuckery in the world.”

“I think she’s learned to filter it,” Harry says. “Remember in the beginning when she refused to ever touch anyone? That’s when she’d cry all the time.”

They continue to talk, but Louis isn’t listening. He’s staring at his palms, wondering what it was that Alice saw. It makes his chest tighten as he thinks that perhaps Zayn’s face was the first thing that popped into her head.

“Want a drink?” Niall offers. “We have some whiskey. I think this is a good time to bring it out.”

“No,” Louis rises to his feet, motions stiff.

“Are you sure?” Liam asks. “I know she can be unsettling at times, but you shouldn’t—”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m going to bed.”

“But it’s only nine,” Harry says.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles, already heading for the stairs. He can feel all their eyes focused in on him, can sense the tension in the room. He isn’t sure if it’s due to his own fear or maybe the others are afraid, too. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

He’s shuffling down the hall when he hears an extra pair of footsteps behind him. Ignoring them, Louis heads into the guest room, leaving the door open for Zayn to come in. It’s when it’s closed and the silence becomes unbearable that Louis speaks.

“Isn’t it bad that you’re in here?”

Zayn doesn’t talk.

“I mean, she made it pretty clear that—well, you know.”

Coming closer, he touches Louis’ shoulder and upon contact, Louis finds his emotions are far too strained, his facade cracking and shattering to pieces. He chokes out a sob, bringing both hands to his face, rubbing at his eyes and wishing he could run away. If only he could just go home. If he could slip through the front door unnoticed and never be faced with this again. The only thing keeping him from trying are Zayn’s arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly.

“I don’t know what to do!” Louis sobs, tucking his face into Zayn’s neck. “I’m so fucking scared, Zayn. How the hell am I supposed to get through tomorrow? _How_?”

Zayn keeps quiet, gently shushing him and rocking them back and forth soothingly.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Louis says, pushing Zayn’s arms away. “I’m going to take a shower and I’m going to feel better,” he nods stiffly, hoping to God that he can trust his own words. Zayn lets him go. He doesn’t bother to move as Louis maneuvers around him, reaching for the folded towels laid on the dresser.

It’s a fast shower, one that Louis can’t relax in. The water feels harsh on his body, his head swimming through a thousand different thoughts. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Alice’s wolf behind his lids, snarling menacingly in his face. It’s terrible—so fucking terrible and he wants to get away from it, away from the house. But where in the hell would he go? He can only imagine walking out of his apartment one day to find a large wolf sitting by his car, or maybe there will be glowing brown eyes in the darkness outside his window one night, and Louis wouldn’t have a fighting chance. Not alone.

Zayn’s seated at the foot of the bed when Louis returns in nothing but a pair of sweats. He slips on a T-shirt with a Rolling Stones emblem on the front, and tossing the towel back onto the dresser, he takes the spot next to Zayn.

“Are you going to talk?” he asks. “Or just sit there like you’ve forgotten how?” He knows it’s a rude thing to say, but Zayn’s silence is worse than everything put together.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Anything. Just say _something_. Tell me I’m going to be okay.”

“I’ve told you countless times—”

“ _Reinforce it_ ,” Louis pleads, voice breaking. He whines when Zayn’s hand cradles his jaw, bringing them closer. With Zayn’s face pressed to his cheek, Louis inhales sharply, shakily.

Zayn’s whispering when he says, “I promise you that you’ll be safe.”

“Because you’ll protect me. Right?”

“Until my last breath.”

Louis’ throat dries up, making it difficult to speak. It’s his turn to stay silent, reveling in the feel of Zayn being so close, his body warm and familiar. Turning just the slightest bit, Louis rests his forehead to Zayn’s, breathing in his air.

“This is only making it worse. Isn’t it?” he whispers, words ghosting over Zayn’s lips.

“The damage is already done.”

“And Tobias? He’ll be angry?”

“Insanely so.”

Louis breathes deeply, thinking of his dream and of his mother’s words. She had said not to be afraid, and looking now into Zayn’s eyes, seeing the emotion kept sealed within them _—e_ motion that Louis knows he’s the only one allowed to see _—_ he thinks he’s figured out what she meant.

“What would happen,” he begins, swallowing his shame and praying that his voice doesn’t fail him, “if I kissed you?”

Zayn stills. “What?”

“You heard me. What would happen?”

His face fills with pain as the color drains from his eyes. With a trembling lower lip, Zayn breathes out, “I could never let you go.”

“And if I told you that you don’t have to.” He swallows hard when Zayn whines. “What then?”

“I don’t think you understand what you’re saying.”

Tipping his face so that his lips are only inches from Zayn’s, Louis whispers, as he closes his eyes, “I think I understand just fine,” and with one hand holding Zayn’s jaw, the other in his lap, Louis pushes forward, his mouth pressing firmly to Zayn’s.

There’s a terrifying moment when Zayn tries to squirm away and Louis doesn’t know if he’s done something wrong. But as Zayn’s hold tightens, his mouth moving timidly along Louis’ lips, Louis can feel that he’s trembling, his entire body shivering. He wants to ask if he’s okay, to see that this is really what Zayn wants from him, but Zayn won’t stop kissing, his mouth moving openly with Louis’. There’s a deep and powerful feeling easing its way into Louis’ bones, his joints starting to ache. His body feels engulfed in flames, mind melted away to nothing. He doesn’t think he’d be able to talk if Zayn were to ask him something, and maybe it’s a good thing that they haven’t stopped kissing, because Louis doesn’t want to break the contact and he doesn’t want Zayn to go. But as Louis takes Zayn’s lower lip into his mouth, biting down just the tiniest bit, Zayn’s warmth and comforting body is taken away from his grasp, and suddenly, the world is upside down as Zayn pushes Louis back on the bed.

Thrown on his back with his head on the pillows, Louis stares up at the ceiling, dazed. He can hear Zayn moving around the room, can hear the lock of the door click into place, and there’s a thought in Louis’ mind that maybe Zayn is going to crawl right on top of him, between his legs. His stomach flips, palms starting to sweat. But instead, Zayn very carefully, very gingerly, lifts the front of Louis’ shirt, exposing his stomach, and with a soft hitch of his breath, he nuzzles his nose into his abdomen.

The rough tickle of Zayn’s stubble has Louis trying not to kick his feet; to not bust out into a fit of giggles. Swallowing the discomfort, he threads his fingers through Zayn’s hair, turning on his side and cradling his head to his body. Zayn continues to nuzzle up to him as if he were trying to bury himself into Louis. Soft kisses ghost along his hips and sides, Louis’ toes curling as the contact makes his body burn. Images of the open fields form behind his eyes, his chest concave as he breathes deeply. Serenity is all he feels as his thoughts and worries melt away to nothing. All that matters is Zayn; all that will _ever_ matter is Zayn.

“I feel weird,” Louis says. He hates the way his voice echoes in the silence, making it sound harsh and broken.

“Is it bad?”

“Not at all.”

Bringing their chests together and with his thighs slipping between Louis’ legs, Zayn kisses him hard. Sparks flash in Louis’ head, his fingertips tingle, fire spreading through his veins. Each time Zayn’s fingers touch his bare skin, Louis’ sent into a frenzy, small whimpers slipping past his lips and into Zayn’s mouth. With a rock of his hips, Zayn brings their bodies unbearably closer, Louis’ nails digging into the back of his shirt, too afraid that if he lets go, everything will disappear.

“Sleep with me tonight. Please,” Louis says, overwhelmed with the need to be near him. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I won’t,” Zayn promises. “I’ll stay right here.” He moves off the bed, making Louis reach for him, his hands grasping at the air. Turning out the light, Zayn strips his shirt off and crawls behind Louis, pulling the covers down and making a space for them.

Louis’ instantly clinging to him, arms and legs tangled all together. He doesn’t care that he can’t stop whining or that the buzzing in his body won’t subside, because Zayn’s not leaving and Louis can sleep soundly for once. He feels Zayn’s lips touch his forehead, his hands pressed firmly against Louis’ back, their bodies sealed together. Zayn rests his chin on the top of Louis’ head, his heartbeat thrumming loudly.

Louis doesn’t want to stop kissing, doesn’t want to stop touching, but thoughts of Tobias and images of Alice are still embedded in his brain, warning him not to take it too far. Maybe, he thinks, there will be a time and a place for all of that, and for now, he’s pleasantly sufficed to have Zayn wrapped up within him, his breathing lulling Louis to sleep.

He dreams of the moon and of the stars, of the fields painted white by the pale moonlight. He dreams of Zayn and the others running wildly through the woods, following him as he leads the way. He doesn’t know where he takes them or how long they run, but none of that matters. Because Zayn’s there with him, his brightly burning eyes a comfort to Louis’ very soul.

And maybe—just _maybe_ —everything will be okay.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a word of thanks to all you guys for sticking around until the end and for your kind and wonderful words. you really kept me going with this and I'm beyond pleased with the outcome. I hope you enjoy this. here are a few things to better the experience: [download link to fic mix + bonus tracks](https://app.box.com/s/cci7wxkvulu5vce4kfwm) and beautiful [cover art](http://24.media.tumblr.com/98c7b7ba9620e0a4fd4391d07ad0ebea/tumblr_mv7athG6C01swvqtpo1_r1_500.png) (done by [falseidolls](http://falseidolls.tumblr.com/) ).

“This is the best I could come up with,” Niall says as he lays a bundle of clothes on the dresser. “The shirt might be a little long in the arms, but you can roll the sleeves.”

“Thanks,” Louis murmurs. He’s perched at the end of the bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He doesn’t believe that a pair of nice clothes is going to win him much with Tobias, but as Niall heads for the door, Louis notes that he’s dressed in a button-up of his own and a pair of slacks that hang loosely around his thighs. All he needs it a tie and he’ll look like he’s going to a wedding. Or a funeral. Louis swallows hard.

Zayn’s sat in the far corner of the room in a rocking chair that creaks with age, and as Louis stands from the bed, fingers ghosting over the thin cotton shirt that Niall had given him, Zayn moves to Louis’ side. “I’ll leave you to change—”

“Don’t. Please, don’t.” Louis hates how he clings to Zayn. “If you go down there and leave me here—I don’t—I won’t go down there.”

Zayn calms him with a simple kiss to his temple, nodding understandingly.

They’re silent as Louis undresses. The shirt is cold and soothing on Louis’ warm skin, but as calm as he feels near Zayn, he still can’t stop his fingers from shaking as he tries to button the front. He gives up when Zayn covers his hands with his own, shushing him gently. Louis just stands there awkwardly and bent over, entranced by the way Zayn’s fingers move over the buttons with precision.

“It fits you nicely,” he whispers, rolling the sleeves to Louis’ elbows. “It’s a little big in the shoulders, but you can hardly notice.” He pats at the front of Louis’ shirt, smoothing the wrinkles and handing him the slacks Niall left. Louis steps into them without problem.

Zayn’s hands still over the collar of Louis’ shirt, his eyes drawing towards the bedroom door. He pauses, shifts and sighs deeply. “I have to get down there,” he says.

Fear prods gently at Louis’ nerves, making his knees weak. He nods sullenly, wanting to keep Zayn with him forever. When he’s gone, the room is eerily quiet. The only sound Louis has for company is the blood rushing in his ears and the beating of his own heart. He turns to the small mirror mounted on the wall above the dresser and whispers to himself, “You look good,” because he does look good. With the right clothes and his hair styled at least half of the way, he looks like a decent young man who once had a bright future.

“You look good,” he says again as he sits back on the bed. “Good enough to eat,” and laughs half hysterically. He isn’t sure if Zayn’s going to come back for him or if he’s to make the trek downstairs on his own. He honestly doesn’t believe he can, even if he wanted to. Louis can only imagine himself in the hall, frozen in place by fear, his hands gripping for the walls for some kind of support. He’d never make it down the steps, let alone into the living room. He sits with his head in his hands and the pricks of tears in his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this. If only he had never driven through the woods, if only his mother had never died, if only he was never born. He laughs miserably against his palms and breathes out in a faint whisper, “If only.” But he’s alive and well now and stuck in the upstairs guest room with a malicious alpha downstairs, ready to rip his jugular out. His options are to either jump from the second story window in hopes of snapping his own neck and avoiding all confrontation, or he can suck it up and deal with it.

He looks to the window, sighs. Then he’s to his feet and in the hall before his mind is caught up with his body. There’s the sound of voices carried through the walls and the clamoring of footsteps on the hardwood. Louis sucks in a deep breath and puffs out his cheeks, exhaling heavily. With one foot in front of the other, he takes each step slowly, drawing out the inevitable. His shoes feel like they’re full of lead, his ankles weak beneath his weight.

The house feels odd as he ventures through it. The sky is overcast, eliminating the usual sunlight that pours through the windows. It’s dark and it’s dank, but the air is warm. It seeps into Louis’ bones, making his chest feel heavy on his heart. Rounding the corner and passing through the double doors, Louis steps into the living room and finds five familiar faces turned to him: the boys and Alice.

“There he is!” Alice says with a cheerful smile. She bounds across the room in one quick motion, nearly knocking Louis off his feet. Wearing a tight black dress that hugs her thighs, a pair of heels that put her two inches above Louis, and her hair done in an ocean of curls, she’s the epitome of beauty. Louis stumbles back when she touches his hand, holding it tightly. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come down.”

Chancing a glance across the room, Louis’ eyes lay on Zayn. “I was getting ready,” he explains. Alice smiles brightly at him, only earning a weak grimace in reply. “Is he here?”

“Not quite. But we must greet him! He’ll be here shortly.” She begins to pull Louis by the hand to the front door. Louis tries to speak, but is shushed instantly. “It’s only polite,” she says. “You’re the one he’s here for.”

“What about—”

“We’ll join them later.” She motions to the rest of the room. “They’re not going anywhere, don’t you worry.”

But Louis _does_ worry. He worries he’s going to step on the stone porch—the very one he had lain on with Zayn only days before—and he will come face to face with a man who wants him dead, and there he will die. _Poetic_ , he thinks glumly.

As Alice opens the door and reveals the outside, the fresh air wrapping itself around Louis’ lungs and letting him breathe it in, Louis has the sudden urge to flee. He wouldn’t make it far, this he knows, but at least he could say he tried.

One step out, two steps out.

The air is cold—freezing, almost—and he wants to burrow into Zayn’s side. There’s a man on the porch dressed in light grey slacks and a white button-up. He stands like a soldier before their colonel, his hands knotted together in front of his waist. His hair, long and dark blonde, is pulled back in a loose ponytail; his eyes are bright and almost white in color. Louis makes the mistake of looking into them and when he does, he can feel their penetrative gaze pushing past his skin and to his soul, his stomach burning as it feels like the man is trying to decipher his very existence with just one look.

“This is Clément Boucher,” Alice says. “Go on. Say hello.”

Louis forces himself to speak, his voice scratching along his throat as it drags through him. “Good morning.”

Clément only nods.

“He doesn’t speak much English,” Alice tries to explain. She has a comforting hand on Louis’ shoulder and he can’t tell if it’s to keep him from shaking or from running. “But he’s the finest gentleman you will ever meet.”

Feeling brave, Louis asks him, “Where are you from?”

“France,” Clément replies, his voice thick with an accent.

Louis wants to continue talking—anything to prolong the end—but as he opens his mouth to speak, both of their attention is deterred from him and focused on something beyond the yard. Following their gaze, Louis watches, stunned, as the front gates at the end of the gavel road seem to open on their own. They creak steadily, moving slowly, and when they’re widened enough, a black car with shining paint moves soundlessly up the hill.

“Is that him?” Louis asks breathlessly. “Is that Tobias?” He’s becoming frantic, he can feel it at the back of his throat. If he isn’t careful he may start screaming.

“Yes,” Alice says.

“You be quiet,” Clément whispers, unintelligibly. “Let him speak first.”

“What?” Louis squints. “I’m sorry, what?”

Alice sighs, squeezing his shoulder. “Do be quiet, Louis.”

Louis holds his breath and waits impatiently as the car comes to a stop only feet away. He half expects the driver side door to open, but when it’s the back door that does so instead, he realizes just how dumb he is for thinking Tobias—a man of his stature with soldiers kept close to his target—would ever drive himself. A foot appears under the door, falling silently on the grass, then another. Louis’ temples are throbbing now and they only worsen when a silhouette emerges from the car, half hidden in shadow.

As the figure ascends the hill, still masked in darkness, Louis releases his breath. He comes closer and Louis finds that Tobias is a tall, lean man with dark skin and darker eyes that are like glimmering marbles kept in the craters of his face. He smiles to Louis, flashing his sharpened canines.

“It’s a pleasure,” he says in a voice so deep that Louis could drown in it. There’s the hint of an accent almost identical to Clément’s, though much easier to understand. Tobias holds out a hand; Louis takes it. “I believe I need no introduction.”

With Tobias’ energy vibrating through his fingers and making them shake, Louis stutters out a weak, “N-no,” that earns him yet another menacing grin. “I’m Louis,” he says completely lost. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say or what it is Tobias wants him to do.

“Yes, I know. You’re all my wolves have been talking about.”

“What, in Alaska?”

Tobias cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. His demeanor never changes from that of a calm and collected middle-aged man on a business trip, but his eyes hold other wonders that Louis can only imagine are dangerous. “Yes. How much do you know about them?”

Louis freezes, his throat swelling shut. “I don’t—I—”

“Not much,” Alice speaks for him. Her fingers are running along the seams of Louis’ shirt in an attempt to calm him. It does little to his nerves. “I’ve seen his thoughts and I think you’ll be surprised by how little the boys have told him about you,” she teases.

“Is that so? Then, perhaps I  _do_  need to introduce myself.” He bows stiffly, one hand draped over his middle. “Tobias Sauvage, at your service.” He grins again, striking Louis with enough fear that he feels he’s going to collapse. No one is born with canines  _that_  sharp. “Though, don’t take it literal,” he says, righting himself. “I serve no one. But I’m here for  _you_ , so let it be known that if you have any questions about anything or concerns or curiosities: do ask. I want no filters and no rules. You speak freely with me and don’t you  _dare_ —” he leans in, voice lowered, “bite your tongue with me. This is your opportunity to prove that you’re as smart as Alice says you are. Can you do that, Louis?”

A soft and choked, “Yes.”

“Good.” Tobias shifts his gaze without moving his head and looks to Alice, then to Clément. He keeps himself poised in front of Louis, his body facing him; closing him in. “Shall we go inside? It’s a bit chilly out here.”

Clément, who had been standing still the entire time, moves now with fluid and swift motions. Alice takes Louis by the arm and pulls him to the side of the porch, making way for Tobias to walk. With the door held open with one long and thin arm, Clément motions for Tobias to enter. Once he’s inside and disappeared from view, Louis turns to Alice with pleading eyes.

“What am I supposed to say to him?” he whispers.

“The truth. You remember what I told you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all you need to know.”

Louis feels as if he’s been spun in circles with a blindfold covering his eyes and is now expected to survive a maze of deadly proportions. It’s impossible, he thinks as he lifts his foot from the porch and onto the doorway. Honesty he can do, but with fear sitting on the back of his tongue, he doesn’t think he can speak at all. He follows Alice as she leads him to the now empty living room. Tobias is nowhere in sight.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Alice says as they head for the kitchen. “I told Niall to whip something up for us.”

Louis’ stomach is too busy doing somersaults for him to even think about eating, but he nods nonetheless, hating the way he continuously catches Clément staring at him. The worst part of it is that Clément doesn’t look away when Louis grabs his gaze. He merely stares, the irises of his eyes lighting unbearably so.

Sat at the table like a big, dysfunctional family are the boys and Tobias. Niall is sat next to Harry with Liam on the other side of him. Zayn is at the very edge of the table with no empty chair near him. Tobias, at the head, has both hands set on the table top, his eyes trained on Zayn. It’s not that Louis had figured he’d have any chance to be near Zayn, but the thought of the others making it so the opportunity never arises makes fingers twitch with anticipation.

Alice tells him to sit wherever he likes, and though Louis doesn’t want the chair next to Tobias, it’s directly across from Zayn, and if eye contact is all Louis’ going to get then he’s going to damn well take it. And when they’re all seated, three open chairs left at the end of the table, they wait in silence—which lasts a lifetime—for Tobias to speak.

“Liam,” he says. “Could you get me something to drink, please?”

Liam’s to his feet in a hurry, moving quickly through the kitchen. It reminds Louis of the first time he had been seated at the table, watching Liam grab everything he needed without a single hesitation. He wonders if Liam moves with such ease because he’s done it a million times for Tobias.

Liam sets a round glass half filled with scotch in front of Tobias and returns to his seat. Tobias, taking a small sip, cradles the glass in his massive hands. “Harry,” he says so suddenly the entire room seems to flinch. “How has the last week been for you?”

Harry’s pressed into Niall’s side, his eyes low and his hair in his face. He’s playing with a fork, running his fingers over the tines. “It’s been nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah.” He smiles weakly. “Nice.”

Tobias stares studiously at his glass of scotch. “ _Nice_  is what you tell the doorman of a hotel when he asks how your day has been. It’s what you call someone’s shirt when you don’t particularly like the color.  _Nice_  is not great. It just is.” He takes another drink. “Is that what you mean by nice, Harry?”

“No,” Harry says, staring at the table.

“Then try and pick a better word next time.” Tobias turns to Niall, but before he can speak, Harry cuts him off.

“It’s been enjoyable. I mean, I’ve had a really great time having Louis here.”

Tobias says nothing. His brow is raised, his face amused.

“It’s sort of nice, you know?” Harry continues. “To have a new face around here and someone new to talk to. He hasn’t heard the stories a million times, so it’s like seeing things from a different perspective.”

“A friend,” Tobias says.

“Yeah. A friend.”

“A  _human_  friend,” Tobias adds.

“Yeah.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Harry squirms in his seat, looking fretfully to Niall then back to Tobias. “He isn’t like the others, if that’s what you mean.”

“So, you’re agreeing that you were lucky that Louis fell into your lap rather than another human?”

Harry hesitates before nodding. “I guess so. Yeah.”

Tobias stares long and hard at Harry, his eyes growing darker by the second. There’s a faint scowl on his face that Louis doesn’t take to. Turning to Zayn, he finds him with clenched fists and a pinched mouth. The veins along his hands are standing up against his skin and Louis wishes he could reach over and touch him. Maybe he could calm Zayn just as Zayn has calmed him all those times before. But as the thought flutters around in his head, Louis catches Alice’s eye. She shakes her head discretely, tucking her hands in her lap. Louis follows her lead and mirrors her stance.

Niall rises and comes back holding a plate of dinner rolls. “The food is taking longer than I thought it would,” he says as he slides single serving plates in the middle of the table. “Won’t be much longer, though.” A chorus of  _thank you_ 's has Niall rolling his eyes, falling back in his chair with ease. He slings an arm around Harry and nuzzles his neck before putting a plate in front of him.

Louis takes the plate offered to him and nearly yelps when Tobias speaks, his voice sounding as if his mouth were pressed firmly to Louis’ ear.

“I have some questions that I’d love to know the answers to, Louis. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Anything.”

“Some you might deem personal, but if you have any qualms, we can move this outside where it’s much more private.”

Terrified to be alone with him, Louis shakes his head. “I don’t think I have anything to hide.”

“That’s right. You’re all very friendly.” Tobias gives a stern look around the table, lingering too long on Zayn. “Is it true that you hit Zayn with your car?”

The question is almost amusing as Zayn is seated perfectly fine in his chair, but Louis, feeling faint and pallid, gives a weak, “Uh, yeah. I did.”

“How did that happen?”

“I wasn’t watching the road.”

“But you weren’t on a road at all, were you?”

He shakes his head, again, this time slowly. “Not really.”

“Yes or no, Louis. There is no in between.”

“No.”

Alice places a roll on Louis’ plate, handing him a knife to cut it with. He thanks her silently and sets the knife down.

“Now, what I  _really_  want to know is what possessed you to drive recklessly through my woods?”

“I-uh, I was…” Louis stares down at his shaking hands, feeling his chest tighten. “I—”

Alice covers his hand with her own. “Maybe you ought to take this outside?”

Louis snaps his attention to her, not meaning to plea, but does all the same. “No. No, here’s fine. I don’t—”

“Okay,” she releases his hand.

Tobias straightens in his seat, his voice loud and clear with the hint of a growl, “ _Answer me_.”

Louis stammers, hating the words flowing from his mouth and feeling the pangs of regret eat away at his mind. “I was trying to kill myself.”

Tobias seems to ponder this, his silence making the weight of Louis’ words that much heavier. “Do you still wish for death?”

Louis sputters, nearly choking on his own spit. Excitability gets the best of him and as he brings a hand to cover his mouth before he coughs, the knife laid on the table flips. Louis’ attention falls from Tobias and to the knife and without thought, he reaches out, snatching it in mid-air, blade first. The sharp edge cuts through his palm, smearing blood along his fingers within an instant. Pain blossoms through his hand, making him bite back a gasp.

There’s clatter around the table as Zayn shoves his chair back, jumping to his feet before anyone else can react. Liam has a hand on his shoulder to sit him back down, and Louis has one horrifying thought that Zayn is going to punch him and lunge over the table.

Alice takes Louis’ hand before he can cradle it to his chest. “You’ll get it all over your clothes,” she says gently. “Blood stains are hard to get out.” She touches Clément’s shoulder and whispers something Louis doesn’t hear.

Louis’ hand is shaking when Clément takes it, blood flowing in rivulets down to his wrist. The cut is wide, but not deep. It only burns for a moment before Clément covers Louis’ palm with his own. There’s a sensation in his fingertips as if he were shocked and as he tries to pull his hand out of Clément’s grasp, he gets a stern, “ _Don’t_.”

With all five fingers touching Louis’ hand, Clément’s eyes roll shut. He whispers silently to himself, the room having gone quiet. And right before Louis,  _right in front of his eyes—_ as a sort of reminder that he has yet to understand the depths of these creatures and their world—Clément’s fingers begin to glow a light blue. It starts in his knuckles and reaches his nail beds. There’s a light between their hands, a blinding white that Louis can’t look at without feeling the pains of a headache in his temples. Then a deep, cold feeling rattles his bones, and when Clement drags his fingers across Louis’ palm, smearing the blood onto his own fingers, he reveals a hand with no cut. Louis can only gawk, the pain gone and replaced by a feeling of soft serenity.

“What the hell,” Louis whispers, watching as Clément wipes his blood from his hands onto a napkin.

“Careful with sharp objects,” he says, Louis barely catching the words through his accent.

“What just happened?” Louis mumbles to Alice, unaware that all eyes are still on him.

“He’s a gentleman,” she says proudly. “Like I said before. He knows how to take care of others.”

Clément scoffs. “ _C’est inutile_. Who needs to heal others when they can heal themselves?”

“Enough,” Tobias growls. “I asked a question and I expect an answer.”

Louis’ eyes fall on Zayn who’s sat back in his chair, playing with a knife.

“No,” Louis says to Tobias. “I don’t.”

“What changed your mind?”

He falters then, trying to find the right words to say. If he tells the truth then he risks not only himself, but Zayn as well. But if he lies, he’s guaranteed a one way ticket to hell. He takes too long, or at least he thinks, for Tobias speaks for him.

“Was it Zayn?” he asks.

Zayn rolls his shoulders.

“Is he the reason you no longer want to die?”

Keeping his attention away from Zayn and the weapon he’s messing with, Louis turns to Alice, wishing she would speak for him again. There’s no sign on her face that says that she will, but there’s a gleam in her eye that warns him.  _Don’t lie_.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “In a way.”

“Well!” Tobias yells, making Louis jump. “That would make Zayn a  _hero_ —” the word rolls off his tongue like poison. “How does that make you feel, Zayn? To have risked your life and everything we’ve built in this world for a boy with a death wish? Do you feel  _heroic_?”

Zayn’s lower lip is trembling, his hands held tightly together. Louis wonders absently where the knife disappeared to. “He’s harmless,” is all he says.

“Says you.”

“And I would know better than anyone else here.” Zayn’s teeth are clenched, his jaw flexed. He stares at Tobias with hateful eyes, knowledge within them that makes Louis’ bones ache. Zayn knows something that Louis doesn’t, and it can’t possibly be anything good.

Tobias is still, his mouth parted just the slightest bit. Louis half expects him to reach over and slap Zayn across the face—he looks so offended. Instead, he takes a deep breath and downs the rest of his Scotch. Getting to his feet, he says, “Let’s go outside.” When all four boys stand, he raises both his hands. “Ah-ah. Not you.” He gives Louis a smile. “Only us. And don’t  _you_ —” Tobias waves a finger in Zayn’s face, “worry. I won’t touch him. Not yet, anyway.”

Zayn growls low in his chest, his lip pulling away from his teeth. Louis wants to throw himself between the two of them, to cover Zayn with his body and knock some sense into him.  _Stop it_ , Louis mentally tells him as he follows Tobias through the sliding glass door and out onto the deck.  _Stop giving him a reason to hurt you_ , and as he sits in one of the cold, wooden chairs at the glass table, Louis swears he hears a faint  _I’m sorry_  at the back of his head.

“Did you hear that?” he asks halfheartedly.

“No,” Tobias says with little interest. “I will assume you heard nothing.” He runs his hand across the glass, picking up dirt with his palm. He rubs his fingers together, brushing it all away. “How close are you with Zayn?”

“Close, I guess.”

“Have you slept with him?”

Louis sputters. “What?  _No_.”

“Good. It would make this far more difficult than it needs to be.”

Louis wants to ask what he means, but decides he’d much rather not know.

“Tell me, Louis, why did you want to kill yourself?”

“I lost someone close to me.”

“Death isn’t always the answer.”

“I know.”

“But you felt that it was, and yet now you don’t want to die. Funny how these things change, isn’t it? You think you want something until the very moment it’s taken from you. Only then do you realize that it was never as important as you had built it up to be.”

“That’s a good thing. Right? That I want to live, or whatever. I found meaning in life. Or something.”

“You should have had it before.”

Louis tips his head down. “Everyone has their limits.”

“It’s weakness.”

“I don’t think it is.”

Tobias crosses one knee over the other, fixes the front of his suit coat. “To each their own. Here’s the important thing, though. I need to know how much you know about my pack.”

“I don’t really know anything.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Fumbling with his hands and picking at the dried blood on his skin, Louis shrugs like a child caught in the midst of an angry father’s glare. “I know that Zayn’s mom was the alpha before you.” This alerts Tobias more than Louis had anticipated. His heart begins to stutter in his chest. “And I know that Harry came from another pack, and that-that demons live in England and you aren’t allowed to talk to humans. Hunters—I know about the hunters. But not—”

“What  _about_  Zayn’s mother do you know?”

“That she was killed. His whole family was killed.”

“Do you know how?”

“Vaguely.” Tobias waits in silence, making Louis sweat. “Hunters. Right? She was killed by hunters.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Uncrossing his legs, Tobias leans his elbows on his knees, the position giving him the carefree look of an average man. If it weren’t for his eyes, that is. They’re so dark, the pupils so dilated; one would think they were all black. “You want to know  _why_  she died? It was because she trusted a human—” he points teasingly in Louis’ direction. “She thought this person who came from another way of life was exciting and exhilarating. Much like Harry. He finds you exciting because you’re new. This human was new to Patricia, as well. But that didn’t work out in her favor, did it?” He leans back with a gentle shrug of his shoulders, his mouth pulled into a mock frown. “Maybe she thought they’d bring light into her darkness. I really couldn’t tell you. She was never satisfied with the lifestyle we live as a unit. She wanted freedom and to walk beyond the enemy lines into new terrain where she could become a goddess of sorts. She wanted peace—something our people have never known with your kind. What she got was death, and now she’s buried out there—” he motions beyond the trees. “Though, you already knew that. Didn’t you? Zayn took you out there. Yes?”

Louis nods because he has nothing else to do. His eyes are so wide he fears they’re going to fall out.

“Marvelous, really. That wolf has never trusted anyone other than those four boys in there. And now  _you_ , someone he’s barely met—a  _human_  nonetheless—has him wrapped tightly around your breakable, little finger. Does it make you feel powerful?” Tobias is in Louis’ face now, their noses only inches apart. “Do you like the thought of being the boy who runs with wolves? To have such magnificent creatures at your side, ready to fight for you. You’re  _weak_. You’ve lived a weak life, and now they bring you security and you don’t want to leave. Do you?”

Louis stays silent, the threatening of tears just behind his eyes. He wants to shout for Zayn, but what good would it do?

“I’m not saying you’re a bad person, Louis. But your people  _are_. Humans! You destroy all that you come across. You kill what you fear without hesitation. You don’t care to hear pleas nor cries. Do you think Patricia wanted to die? Do you think  _any_  of my wolves  _wanted to die_? There is no hope for you here, Louis. You will not find security anymore. Your were born into the wrong race—” he’s laughing now, manically, his eyes growing red. “But I will give you the benefit of the doubt. Can you tell me why I should not kill you, when you welcomed death so openly?”

Louis takes in a sharp breath, his body tensing.

“Give me one reason why I should not reach over this table and pop your eyes out of their sockets.  _Just one_.”

Twisting his hands together, Louis takes one gasping breath after another. He watches the way his knuckles turn white, blood rushing to his fingertips. He dares not to cry, knowing it will get him nowhere—and with his luck, Tobias will take it as reason to kill him. Louis thinks hard, wracks his brain of every reason why he shouldn’t die, but when he comes up blank, he isn’t surprised. The moment he’s gone from this place, never to look back again, he’s faced with the reality that no one is waiting for him on the other side. No one is missing him. He wonders if anyone has noticed that he’s gone. Perhaps the mailman, he thinks. He’s surely getting tired of stuffing coupon books and bank offers into his small mail box at the apartments. Maybe him.  _Maybe_. But who else?

“I’m waiting,” Tobias says. He’s staring at his nails now sharpened into claws, his eyes no longer dark but a blinding white.

“I don’t know,” Louis answers feebly. Then, he’s sobbing. “ _I don’t know_.”

“Only one reason, Louis. That’s all I need.”

“I don’t  _have one_. Not one I can see, but that doesn’t mean I want to die!”

“Why did you want to kill yourself?”

Louis sobs harder, holding his head in his hands, forgetting about the dried blood on his palm, and not caring either way. “Because my parents are both dead and I live alone in a studio apartment with shitty neighbors! How am I supposed to go home?” He’s shouting now, hysterically. “I can’t stay at my mom’s place—I fucking can’t. She practically died in that house and when I look into her room, I’ll see her sickness painted on the walls and death in her bed. I’ll see her lying there motionless and aching without any way of  _helping her_. I’ll  _feel_  it when I walk through her doors and I  _can’t_! I  _can’t do that_!”

Tobias’ eyes widen by only a fraction, his demeanor seeming to calm. He relaxes back in his chair and gives a weary glance towards the glass door. Louis doesn’t look, not wanting to know whose attention he’s managed to grab.

“You really do have nothing,” Tobias mumbles. “What a sad life that must be.”

Louis runs the back of his hand over his face, feeling that Tobias is teasing him. Swallowing his self pity, he looks to the trees and to the fields, wishing he could be back to the time when he had ran so freely through them with Zayn at his heels.

“I will give you a fighting chance,” Tobias says.

Louis lets out one strangled and choked sob.

“I heard you like games.” A wicked grin spreads across his face. “So do I.”

*

Having been told to grab a jacket from inside, Louis runs down the deck steps with the coat slung over his arm in an attempt to keep up with Tobias. There’s no doubt in Louis’ mind that he’s a man that doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

They walk in silence past the fields and over the hills, Alice and Clément not far behind. It isn’t until the house is gone from view, the grass different and untouched (as if no one ever ventures this far), that Tobias stops, bringing Louis to a sudden halt.

Silence.

The wind blows heavily at Louis’ back as he slips one arm into the jacket, then the other. He zips the front and lifts the hood, hoping to shield his ears from the cold. They’re numb against his skull, surely a bright red.

“Where are the others?” he bravely asks.

“Do you like them?” Tobias motions to the two wolves behind them. “They seem to like you quite a bit.”

“They’re nice,” Louis says carefully.

“Magnificent is what they are. All werewolves are, I suppose, but they’re more than just that.” Tobias looks fondly towards the others, a brief smile touching his lips. “Every so often, when born under a new moon, a wolf is given a dark gift—a power that they possess for all their lives. Some have been granted with immortality, others more simple things such as telepathy—like Alice. There’s even one where a wolf can control other’s thoughts and emotions, but I’ve never quite understood the usefulness of a power like that. Then again—” he looks to Louis, his tongue tapping against the sharp edge of one canine, “ _I_ wouldn’t need the power of persuasion. Would I?”

Louis shakes his head quickly, unable to look away.

“Clément’s gift could be labeled as useless as well. He knows this, of course, but it’s still very interesting to witness. As you saw at the dinner table, he has the power to heal, but not just creatures like you and I—which is what makes it so unique. He can heal all that is broken and withered. And the most wonderful part of all is the blue light. You saw it, yes? That very light was his life force feeding into you. That is why your hand still feels numb and it will continue to do so for days to come until his spirit leaves you.” Tobias runs the tip of a finger gently over Louis’ cheek. His voice is soft when he speaks. “This no longer involves the others, do you understand? They were to keep you here until I arrived, and now that I have, they serve no purpose to this situation.”

Louis wants to ask where they are, if Tobias has them locked away somewhere they can’t get out of. Or maybe all he had to do was tell them not to follow. Though, Louis finds it hard to believe that Zayn would give up without a fight.

“Your eyes are filled with curiosity,” Tobias says, letting his hand fall away from Louis’ face. “I told you to not filter yourself. So, please. Ask what you want to know.”

“Why are we out here?”

Laughing softly to himself, Tobias looks to the woods. “Gifted wolves are blessed with special training. Do you know why that is?”

“Because…” Louis tilts his head to the side, thinking hard. “They’re irreplaceable?”

“Yes. In fact, when they’re born, there is only a fifty percent chance of life. Most of their bodies can’t contain the magic within them and it burns them from the inside out. Sad, I know, but it’s very common. The human anatomy is a fragile thing and even though we are born with strength that surpasses your kind by miles, it’s still difficult to hold such power in your veins. Especially when so young. They start their training before they’ve fully matured to ensure their safety and powers. They learn to hunt like savages and to build their bodies in ways that would astound you. They’re monsters, but beautiful ones.”

Louis, growing anxious with each passing moment, hides his hands in the sleeves of his coat. His teeth begin to chatter as the wind continues to blow.

“Even Alice,” Tobias continues, “is stronger than any wolf here.” He grins. “Besides me, of course. Does that scare you?”

Louis nods timidly.

“There are boundaries all along this estate, Louis, and they mark where my wolves are not allowed to pass. I want to see how creative you are and how strong your body is. I know you’ve been through some trouble recently and you must be bruised from your crash, but I have faith that you can use your mind and find ways to these boundaries. Upon doing so, you will ensure your own safety.” Tobias looks directly into Louis’ eyes as he speaks again, his voice an eerily calm. “Survive  _them_ —” he points to the others, “and you may leave this place unharmed.”

“ _What_?”

“You’ve seen dog races, haven’t you?”

Louis can’t breathe, let alone think. His hands have begun to tremble.

“They release the hounds and watch them run as they chase the metal rabbit.” Tobias is starting to walk away, his voice faint as the sound of Louis’ beating heart echoes in his own ears. “You are the rabbit now.”

Louis is frozen in place, his legs growing weak. He feels faint.

“I will give you a hint,” Tobias calls. “Follow the wind and keep east. You may win this yet.” He flashes a smile with elongated fangs, his eyes burning brightly in his dark face. With a small wave of his hand, he whispers: “Now… _run_!”

Louis looks to the wolves behind Tobias, the two he is supposed to run from, and finds that they’re in the midst of undressing, not yet changed. He takes steady steps back, eyes never leaving them. There’s one terrifying moment when Clément looks to him and their gazes lock—but Louis doesn’t feel fear. His hand tingles dully, and he believes that maybe they don’t want to hurt him any more than Louis wants to be hurt. But he’s to run, and Tobias is staring at him with narrowed eyes. Louis must run and he must go now.

As the wind blows harder and the trees begin to lean, Louis chances one last fretful glance around the field. Then he’s running on tired feet; running until the hood falls from his head and sweat begins to pour from his temples. Through the woods, passing over fallen branches and bundles of weeds, Louis tries to maintain his balance, but it’s just so hard when his head is swimming and his eyes are burning; surroundings now bleary as tears shield his sight. Pushing himself, huffing ragged breath after breath, Louis reminds himself of the times he had ran from the eighth grade bullies, and how he was able to carry the soccer team each Friday night into a victory. This shouldn’t be hard; he’s ran his whole life.

Except Tobias had been right: Louis’ body is still littered with bruises and, as he runs, he can feel the way his ribs move strangely beneath his skin, as if they aren’t quite in place with the rest of his bones. A silent alarm sounds in his head, telling him that if he doesn’t die, he’s going to wish that he had. There had been a gleam in Tobias’ eyes ever since he stepped foot in the house, one that Zayn didn’t take to in the dining hall, and one that Louis refuses to acknowledge. But now, running through miles of unmarked woods—not knowing which fucking way is east—Louis’ stuck with the realization that Tobias never wanted to keep him around. He hadn’t planned on letting Louis go. This is an excuse—a  _reason—_ to do to Louis what he so desires, and all Louis can worry about, the only thing his mind will let him think up, is how to find Zayn. Where did Tobias take him and the others?  _They could be dead_ , he thinks, quickly shying away from the thought. He whimpers softly.

_Maybe they’ll be nice_ , he thinks stubbornly as he holds up his hands, shielding his face from the low, weak branches all around.  _They like you, he said. They wouldn’t hurt you if they didn’t have to—_ Louis groans, whining at the back of his throat. Tobias could have told them to make it painful. Maybe he wants Louis to regret ever living, ever finding out about their secret. Maybe Tobias will make an example of him to the others in Alaska, proving what happens when you run with humans. His stomach turns, his throat swollen shut. Louis presses on, trying not to cry out when he hears the snap of a branch to his left.

There’s adrenaline in his veins and bile in his throat. When his thighs begin to scream, Louis whispers to the woods of how he can’t stop—he  _can’t_ , because if it he does, he’s history. They’ll tear his head off and take it to their alpha; they’ll drag his body out and bury it on the property. And what would Zayn do? What would  _Tobias_  do?

The soft rustle of leaves as the wind picks up has Louis’ nerves on edge. Sweat rolls into his eyes, blinding him. Fighting through the sting and the pain and the misery wrapped around him, Louis grinds his teeth, wills his body, and continues on. He hasn’t the faintest idea of where the boundaries are. All he has is the memory of Harry driving the highway into town, but that had been in the opposite direction. Now, all Louis can do is hope they’ve marked the area that he’s supposed to reach, or he’ll be running for an eternity. And maybe that’s what Tobias wants. Maybe he expects Louis to run right out of the woods and into the main city where people—humans—would see him: the ruffled and missing boy—though none of them would know he was missing, because none of them would care.

And that’s exactly what Tobias wants. Louis can feel it.

Stopping so suddenly he nearly topples over, Louis stares wide-eyed and frightened towards the surrounding trees. He swears he hears a growl low and menacing to his right and the rustle of leaves as something walks through them. They’re close, but Louis doesn’t care.

With a deep breath, he cuts to his left, away from the intruding sounds and the feeling of dread. He sprints through the trees—all looking like carbon copies to him now, no longer registering as his surroundings. He runs until his throat is painfully dry, until his cheeks and nose are frozen and chafed by the wind. He runs until the familiar sweet smell of wildflowers reaches his running nose and fills him with hope.

“Blue,” he whispers. “Blue. Where’s the fucking blue?”

A twig snaps, Louis gasps. He turns his attention to his left, then to his right. Whatever is near him is hidden by shadows. He half expects something to fly out of the treetops, but he doesn’t dare look up for fear of finding a face looming overhead with razor sharp teeth and glowing eyes. Louis inhales, holds it. The silence is unnerving; blood is pumping in his ears, sounding through his head. Refusing to shut his eyes, Louis stares out into the forest, wiping his mind clean and trying so hard to focus on the world.

The sound of footsteps not far from his right. A soft snarl.

Louis darts from the noise, keeping his eyes trained on the flowers around him. There are reds and purples, yellows and pinks. The snarl comes again, this time loud and clear and prominent; they want to be heard. There’s too much fear nestled in his mind, he can’t think straight. He can hardly breathe, cold sweats wracking him. Louis’ never in his life been as afraid as he is now, and there’s a sick undertone to it all that reminds him this is what he wanted in the first place. Death was all he had and now it’s back for him, angry that Louis had forgotten of their plans together.

Death, he thinks miserably, is his old friend. And here it is, chasing on the heels of his feet with saliva dripping from its fangs. There’s hate all around that Louis can feel along with the fear and he wonders if it’s Tobias’—if, to him, Louis is nothing but a nuisance that needs to be disposed of.

Misjudging a jump and hooking the toes of his shoe on a fallen branch, Louis finds himself crashing down onto the forest floor, hitting the ground hard enough to knock himself senseless. His forehead collides with the ground, the skin splitting, blood smeared across his skin and into his eyes. His ankle, twisted, throbs maddeningly as he weakly reaches for a tree, steadying himself and sobbing quietly. A growl carried with the wind has Louis rolling his eyes shut, bracing his back against the tree.

Holding his breath and hoping to God that he doesn’t black out, Louis screams within his own head as he forces one foot after the other. He isn’t quite running, but limping instead. He’s doing so as quickly as he can manage with the waves of pain eating him alive. The sweat keeps running down him and soaking his shirt. The jacket is too warm but his fingers are ice. He imagines lying on the ground with the leaves and the insects and the flowers, he imagines lying there motionless until one of the wolves found him. It could be peaceful, he thinks, swallowing down a shout as he steps wrong on his ankle.

But before Louis has a chance to follow through with his halfhearted death wish, his eyes linger on a bush; one decorated in blue and greens. Louis tries not to cry out with relief, his hands shaking violently at his sides. There’s another snarl behind him, but Louis can’t pay it any mind. He’s finally found the flowers he needs, and now he has a fucking chance of getting out of this alive.

The snarl comes louder, stronger. The rustle of leaves, the sound of paws padding across the blanket of weeds and twigs all along the floor. Louis’ heart stills in his chest, his breath caught in his throat. Without glancing behind himself—already knowing what’s back there—he tries to run. He’s not quick and he’s not balanced. He almost falls twice as he passes the bush and as he runs by, he reaches out, snatching a handful of the blue flowers. The thorns on the stems scrape across his palm, bloodying his hand and taking his skin. Biting back a moan, Louis stares into his hand, seeing the red stained petals. They’re wilted under the weight of his blood, but they’ll work. They have to.

“ _Find me_ ,” he whispers hoarsely to the flowers. “ _For God’s sake, Zayn, fucking_ _find me_ _._ ” He lifts his hand above his head, lets his eyes fall shut. He runs with his fingers loosening around the flowers, releasing them to the wind and willing Zayn to feel their message.

For a moment, a calmness washes over him, and he almost feels safe, but as he slows to a stop and turns to his right, Louis can see through the corner of his eye that something is behind him. This something isn’t quite white, but streaked with brown. It growls at him, willing him to run again so that it may chase him and fight him down. Another growl, this one closer.

Louis, turning away from the white wolf—from Clément as he can only assume—focuses on an empty clearing. He had expected to find Alice with her brilliant red fur, but instead he finds moss covered stones and decaying trees. Knitting his brows together, Louis turns back to Clément, only now he’s feet away, having crept up when Louis was not looking.

Louis yelps, stumbles back. There’s not enough space between them: no hope that Louis can get away in time. Clément surges forward, lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. He snaps his jaws, growls so loudly it sounds like a bark, and as Louis claws at the ground, trying to get to his feet, Clément’s mouth clamps shut around his twisted ankle. Louis screams hoarse and low and filled with despair, his nails digging into the dirt around him, grabbing loose leaves and no leverage.

The wolf’s teeth are digging through Louis’ skin and to his bone, Clément with his dilated pupils and his flaring nostrils, yanking Louis like he’s a chew toy. All the while, Louis screams until he feels his throat is going to bleed, until he thinks that he’s lost his voice completely.

Kicking with his good leg, he feels the top of his foot connect with Clément’s jaw, making a hollow sound as he releases Louis, a stunned look in his eye. Louis scrambles to his feet only to fall back to the ground when he finds that he can’t move his foot. The pain is excruciating; like nothing he’s ever felt before. He’s terrified that if he looks at his ankle, he’ll see the white glint of bone through the wound.

As he cradles his leg to his chest and groans loudly, he can feel his face becoming heated, turning a deep shade of red. Alice jumps from the bushes, her hair ruffled. She looks to Louis first menacingly, then with gentle eyes that Louis can’t bring himself to stare into. Regret gleams vibrantly in her face as she bares her teeth. Louis scurries on his back, using his hands and his feet to get as far away from her as possible, but it’s of no use. Clément is behind him; Alice in front. There’s nowhere to run, but still Louis finds himself reaching for that one last bit of hope. In a futile attempt to survive, Louis rolls onto his hands and knees and tries, again, to get to his feet. He isn’t sure if the wolves are playing with him—he wouldn’t be surprised—or if they’re genuinely curious as to how far Louis will go to live. He manages to get on both of his feet and, ignoring the blinding white pain coming from his ankle, he runs.

He doesn’t make it far, the pain proving to be too much. His stomach is doing flips, his mouth flooding with spit. Doubling over, Louis gasps as he heaves, nothing coming up. Then again and this time his mouth fills with the sour taste of stomach acid, his body breaking out in a cold sweat. He’s faint—too faint. Falling to his knees, Louis rolls onto his side, giving up. There’s no way he can keep going. His body won’t stop trembling and it’s hard to breathe. He feels like he’s freezing, but there’s sweat covering his body. Too exhausted to care anymore, Louis curls in on himself, too tired to keep his eyes open.

Alice breaks through the bushes, coming to a stop as she takes in the sight before her. With her nose to the ground and her eyes fierce, she inches closer. Louis can hear her breathing and the sound of her paws on the dirt, but he keeps his eyes shut, hoping she’ll think he’s dead. Surely his heartbeat is weak enough by this point to pass as dwindling. She snorts, huffing loudly as she begins to run. He can tell by the way her feet trample against the floor. She’s coming for him, and all he can do is brace his body and pray that it’ll be quick.

Louis grinds his teeth, screws his eyes closed, and tenses every muscle inside of him, but instead of feeling the impact of a rock solid body, Louis hears a yelp so human-like that he almost thinks it’s a shriek sounding through the woods. Weakly, he turns to the sound, peeks through one eye and finds Alice on her back. Zayn is above her, snarling wildly, fangs sinking into her neck.

“Wait,” Louis croaks. He wants to be relieved that Zayn is finally with him, but his head is clouded over. He may as well be dead already, he feels so drained. “Wait. Don’t kill her.”

Clément tumbles through into the clearing, stopping just short of the fight. His eyes dart between Zayn and Louis, worry laced within them. His feet stomp against the ground as if he can’t quite tell which target he should take on. Growling low, he heads for Louis who, now sitting upright and hugging his knees, buries his face against his legs.

Zayn howls fiercely, lunging for Clément and leaving Alice in a whining heap.

“Stop,” Louis mutters against his legs. He half expects Zayn to listen, but with the anger in the air and the way his eyes shine in all his dark fur, Louis’ surprised that no one has died yet. He’s left to bite his trembling lower lip, to regret everything that’s lead up to this. If Zayn winds up killing someone, Louis doesn’t want to witness it, and maybe calling on him had been a bad—

“ _Enough_!”

Everyone halts.

Tobias emerges from the woods with his claws sharpened and his eyes tinted red. Stepping towards Zayn, he growls. Zayn hurries away from Clément and to Louis’ side, bracing himself in front of him. He tips his head down when Tobias moves towards Louis, his head canted to the side as if confused by what Zayn is doing.

Louis can tell that Tobias is angry—practically seething as he stands in the calmness of the woods—but as Tobias breathes deeply, his body seeming to relax, he collects himself. Clicking his tongue, he gives a faint  _tsk tsk_  that has Zayn growling. He backs up, almost sitting in Louis’ lap completely. His tail is down, the fur along his back standing on end, ears bent at an angle.

“This isn’t how I imagined this to go,” Tobias says. “I believe this is cheating. Don’t you think so, Louis?”

Louis keeps himself hidden behind Zayn.

“Perhaps we should start again?” Tobias asks.

Louis clenches his jaw, hanging his head. He wouldn’t make it two steps before one of them took him down. The urge to cry sits heavily in his chest.

“No,” Tobias says, answering himself. “No, we shouldn’t.” He pauses, seeming to stare at all four of them at once. Then he’s turning and heading back to the fields where the game had begun. He whispers, “Come.”

*

Alice and Clément have changed back into their human forms by the time Louis limps his way into the clearing. He manages to barely make it—having leaned most of his body weight on Zayn—and plops down in the field, no longer caring that all eyes are set on him.

“Change,” Tobias tells Zayn. “Now.” He produces a bundle of clothing that Louis only halfheartedly wonders about. And as Zayn walks carefully to his alpha, taking the clothes between his teeth and trotting back into the woods, Alice gives him a swift swipe of her claws before he goes, making him snarl and snap at her. She’s furious, Louis can tell, and she keeps rubbing her shoulder—Clément holding her right arm between his hands.

“That was unnecessary,” Tobias says to her.

They wait in silence, Louis bleeding profusely from the gash dug deep into his ankle. He carefully rolls his pant leg up, revealing white skin that’s been painted a deep red. Sucking air through his teeth, he dares not to touch it, not even where the blood has dried and turned black.

Zayn returns with his head down, stopping just short of Tobias. He peeks up through his lashes apologetically.

“How did you get out?” Tobias asks. “Did they release you?”

“No.”

“Then,  _how_.”

“Easily.”

Louis flinches as Tobias chuckles faintly into his hand.

“Do you expect me to believe that you fought off all three of them?”

Zayn nods stiffly. “They aren’t as strong as you think they are.”

“Or perhaps you’ve finally channeled your rage into something good.” Tobias side steps him, making way straight to Louis. “I do hope you didn’t hurt them too much,” he says over his shoulder. Extending both his hands, palms up, he whispers: “To your feet.”

“You’ve got to be  _kidding_  me,” Louis spits out.

“Come now.”

“You can’t just treat me this way!”

Tobias stands, unabashed, wiggling his fingers.

Louis scoffs, trying to climb to his feet without help. He nearly tumbles over, reaching out and forcefully taking Tobias’ hand. Leaning his weight on his good leg, Louis breathes heavily through his nose, the pain numbing his body and making him feel sick.

Tobias walks slow circles around him, speaking all the while. “You’re not nearly as smart or strong as I had wished you to be. Though, clever, you are. To call Zayn when you need him most, knowing he cannot let you down. Alice almost lost her arm. That’s not something to be celebrated, but your strategical ability  _is_. Very well done, Louis.”

“Why am I still here?” he asks, grinding his teeth. The pain is too much, he’s going to pass out. “Why, if you’re not going to kill me, don’t you just let me go?”

“You’re a useless human. You’re fragile. Breaking so easily,” Tobias kicks lightly at Louis’ ankle, smiling when he shouts in pain. He has a hand on Louis’ shoulder to keep him upright, taking joy out of the harm he’s caused. “Yes. Useless. But maybe not completely so. You’ve managed to bring out the anger in Zayn that he’s so stubbornly kept hidden since his mother’s passing. That is something I’ve been trying to do for years.”

Louis looks through squinted, tear lined eyes to see Zayn held tightly in Clément’s arms. His teeth are bared as he tries to break free.

“ _Don’t touch him,_ ” he yells, voice echoing through the trees. “You’ve done enough to him!”

“Your eyes are so full of wonder, Louis,” Tobias whispers, almost in awe, mouth dangerously close to Louis’ ear. “You have questions that you’re  _dying_ to know the answers to. What if I told you I could provide them for you?”

“I don’t care about answers,” Louis says, weakly.

“Maybe not now, you don’t. But you will. In the months to come when you’re locked away in your darkened room without a friendly face nearby, you will think of the Wolves of Portland and you will wonder what became of them. You will wonder if they’ll come back for you.” He snarls. “To cut the suspense short:  _no_. We will never be back here so long as you are alive. But I have an offer for you.”

Louis takes a shaken breath as Tobias rounds him, coming to a stop with his face only inches away.

“The human world has given you nothing but pain, but perhaps ours will bring something new. For what you lack in that body of yours you could very well make up for in a wolf one. Halfbreed or not, I think you’d make a fine addition to my pack.”

Gasping with a speeding heart, Louis’ left speechless. He doesn’t know how to react or what to think. The thought of being a wolf, though exciting, is just as terrifying as everything else that has happened to him. His silence is cut short when Zayn screams a deep and guttural,

“ _No_!” He starts to kick and to hit, to fight Clément off with all his might. He’s shouting incoherently, clawing for freedom.

“Do shut him up,” Tobias snaps.

Clément works an arm around Zayn’s neck, choking him to silence. The other is held tightly over his mouth, though his limbs keep flailing, his muffled screams heard across the field.

Agitated, Tobias huffs out a sigh, straightens his suit jacket and walks quickly to where Zayn is sprawled on the grass with Clément holding him down. Clément moves out of the way as Tobias snatches Zayn by his throat, claws dug into his skin, his face turning a bright red. “It’s only an offer, Zayn. One that Louis has the ability to decline. Though, let this be known,” he looks back over to where Louis stands. “If you do find that you ought to say no, then you will die right where you stand.”

Louis begins to tremble uncontrollably.

“I can’t let him free, you must understand that. He knows too much.” He leans in, shouting loudly, “And if he  _did_  leave, then what would become of  _you_? Do you believe that you’ll see your human mate again? That he’ll wait for your return? What of it, then? Will you sneak behind my back and come here to play the role of his guardian angel? And what will you do when he moves on?”

Zayn chokes, whining hoarsely. The veins in his forehead stand angrily against his reddened skin.

“Humans don’t feel what we feel. He will surely find someone else, and maybe for a while he’ll try to replace you. He’ll bed bodies that aren’t yours but with similar faces. He’ll screw them with thoughts of you until the day comes that he can love another, and then what will happen, Zayn? You will be left to die alone with your own broken heart.” He releases Zayn’s throat, leaving him in a wheezing, sputtering heap. “He’ll be a gift.”

Louis sobs quietly, his shoulders shaking, his eyes shut. He has no more options and even Zayn, who had been so sure of himself, can’t keep him safe any longer.

“He won’t survive,” Zayn chokes out. “He’s not strong enough.”

“I have faith that he will pull through, even if you don’t. Now, Louis,” Tobias grins. “Have you an answer for me?”

Looking between Zayn’s scared eyes and Tobias’ calm ones, Louis gives the only answer that he’s left with. “Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah. Okay.”

Zayn makes a move, Clément throws him down.

“Heal him!” he shouts, trying to push Clément’s arms away from him. “Better his chances,  _please_.”

Tobias holds out a hand, motioning for Clément to step forward. When he does, Tobias pushes him gently towards Louis. He makes the short journey through the clearing, eyes downcast as he crouches before Louis.

“ _S’il vous plaît,_ ” he whispers, reaching for Louis’ ankle.

Louis, holding onto Clément’s shoulder, lifts his foot. He tries not to whimper when Clément’s warm hands encircle his torn ankle, but what’s agony soon fades as a chill works up Louis’ leg, starting from the wound and traveling to his head. He sighs, relaxes. Pressing his newly healed foot on the ground, he lets go of Clément’s shoulders and breathes out a gentle, “Thank you.”

Clément shakes his head, touches the cut across Louis’ forehead. He’s nothing but complete concentration, his eyes drilling holes where his hands touch. With one palm cradling Louis’ face, the other feeding the light into his body, Clément whispers, “ _Je suis désolé_. You be okay.”

Louis feels paralyzed by fear, unable to do anything. He can’t respond because he can’t be sure that he  _will_  be okay. It’s like his life has come full circle in the most fucked up way possible. He nods, though, letting Clément know that he has heard him.

“No fear,” Clément says. He holds Louis’ gaze, nods. “Okay?”

Louis says nothing. When Clément turns and heads back to where the others stand, Louis watches him go, his eyes fluttering over Alice and to Zayn who is standing with his back straight, his shoulders squared. He’s glaring at the back of Tobias’ head.

“Is he to your satisfaction?” Tobias asks Zayn. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins making his way to Louis.

The space between them isn’t vast, but large enough that Louis feels disconnected. He’s on the outskirts; the outsider. And as Tobias walks slowly towards him, his motions fluid and smooth, Louis’ gut twists up into knots. The world begins to slow down, his fear turning to terror. Tobias is the black death coming straight for him. His posture is poised, his chin tilted up, head high. His arms sway at his sides as he takes soundless step after step across the grass.

Louis feels the urge to back away, his feet moving without his consent. Tobias waves a finger out in front of him, shaking his head as he walks.

“Stay where you are,” he says, and that is when Zayn breaks free from the hold Alice has put on him, and he shouts with what’s left of his voice.

“ _Run_!” He pushes Alice down, sprinting through the field. “Louis,  _run_ —”

Tobias whips his head back, growling so loudly that Louis swears he feels the earth tremble beneath him. The last thing Louis sees before he turns and runs is Zayn leaping from the fields, the loud crackle of bone echoing. Louis doesn’t look back, he would never forgive himself if he caught an eyeful of someone’s throat being ripped out, but there’s a chorus of growls—soft howls that are cut short as someone’s breath is knocked from their lungs. There’s one snarl in particular that’s so monstrous, so violent that it could only come from Tobias and it thrums mercilessly in Louis’ ears, sending shivers up his arms.

This was a bad idea, he knows now as footsteps ascend on him. They’re large and heavy, he can tell by the vibrations in the ground. He isn’t surprised that he’s tackled down by something much larger than him, but to feel human hands gripping at his legs and pulling him closer as he screams is not what he expects.

Louis kicks once and his leg is caught in a tight fist. Twisting his foot, the hands clamor for him; long, sharp nails digging into his arms, his thighs, anywhere they can grip. He shouts as he’s thrown onto his back, eyes screwed shut so tightly spots of color form behind his lids. A shock of pain flies through his left leg, starting in his thigh and reaching his toes. He screams, punches and kicks until he can’t any longer. The pain worsens and becomes a burn that reaches his heart, pumping the agony through his veins.

An ear splitting howl courses through the trees, forcing Louis’ eyes open and what he’s faced with is Tobias with blood in his mouth, painting his fangs as red as the eyes bulging from his head. Louis can’t scream because his throat feels singed shut. His eyes water, his ears ring, making his teeth hurt.

“Don’t,” he pleas weakly.

Tobias smiles as he shakes his head, softening the look in his eyes. “But it’s already been done.” He begins to laugh maniacally so, his eyes squinting shut as the blood runs in droplets down from the corners of his mouth.

The burning sensation increases, proving it impossible for Louis to move. He’s stuck on his back with his hands balled into fists and the sound of fighting is all that he can hear. The rushing in his ears tunes out what little Louis can make sense of. His breath starts to hitch, his chest aching as his lungs beg for more air. He can’t breathe through the fire in his body, can’t see through the water in his eyes.

Tobias, who had been staring down at him with pleasure in his face, is suddenly ripped from Louis’ body. The lack of weight helps him breathe, but not by much. He can’t see where Tobias has gone, but there’s a flash of black fur, then white. There’s brown and red and colors all over that Louis can’t focus on. It’s all becoming jumbled, his brain shutting down. The sky seems to open up, the blue seeping down into his eyes. His thigh is numb, but as the wind blows and chills the wet spots on his slacks, Louis knows it’s where Tobias had sunk his teeth.

He rolls onto his stomach and tries to crawl. He doesn’t make it far before a familiar yelp makes Louis’ spine straighten; flinching as if someone had tried to hit him. Louis buries his face in the grass, revelling in the cold wetness that sticks to his cheeks. He can’t move. Not anymore. His heart is slowing, his head about to burst. The last thing he sees is Zayn with blood in his fur. Then everything disappears and Louis is lost to darkness.

*

There’s sound around him: shouting. Louis hears his name, but not the voice. Too many hands are touching him, he’s lost in a haze that he can’t find his way out of. He has no voice. He can’t move. He can’t think. His eyes are open but they don’t see, and fear is nothing but a dying memory, replaced by the unbearable pain in his heart.

A small flicker of light, but then it fades and fades and Zayn’s screaming so close that Louis can feel his breath on his face, but he can’t see him.

Then. Nothing.

**Z**

When Tobias’ neck snapped between Zayn’s teeth, his heart had done a funny thing. It felt as if it were trying to break free from his chest, to beat past his ribs and into the open air. Maybe it had swelled as the power within Tobias’ blood spilled out and into Zayn’s own. He had felt it when it happened. It was as if his entire body had fallen asleep and was now waking up with the feel of pinpricks. It had hurt, but only for a moment. Tobias would have healed had Zayn not ripped him in two. The taste of rusted metal sat on the back of his tongue like a weight, telling him that what he had done was very real; very true. He killed his alpha.

But as Tobias’ body rolled into a mess of motionless limbs and red dyed clothing, Zayn could not feel relief. Louis was meters away, motionless himself. He was breathing, but just barely.

Keeping his form, Zayn had had Clément carry Louis to the house and they had made it back before his heart stopped beating. But now, as Zayn hovers over the guest bed where Louis lies without a pulse and without color in his face, he wonders if it had been all for nothing. He had known the bite would kill him, and now he’s gone and there’s a pain in Zayn’s chest as if someone had shot a bullet through his lungs.

Clinging to Clément’s arm, Zayn pleas: “You have to try harder. You have to bring him back!”

“ _Je ne peux pas._ ” Clément shakes his head. “My power is—uh,” he looks to Alice with frantic eyes that Zayn takes as weakness. “It’s not good.”

“Darling,” Alice tries, laying a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. He slaps it away.

“Do it. Okay?” Zayn’s breathing too hard and it makes his head light. It’s hard to stand when all he wants is to lie down and forget what he has done. “Just  _try_. Again.  _Please_.”

“It doesn’t work this way,” Alice yells. “He can’t bring back the dead, Zayn! He can only  _heal_.”

Zayn shouts, his veins standing against his skin, “ _Do it_! Fucking do it. You have to, or-or,” he cradles his head in his hands, wishing he could cry. He has nothing to threaten—nothing  _real_. He’d never hurt them and they know it. He can tell by the sadness in Alice’s eyes that they know he’s running on empty.

He shouts as he kicks the walls, “This would have never happened if  _you_ —” he points an accusing finger in Alice’s face, “and  _you_ had not fucking  _shown up_. If Tobias had just—if he had—” the tears begin and Zayn falls victim, crashing to the floor and weeping into his hands. Louis’ gone, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He kicks at the ground, throws punches at the furniture. Alice steps out of his way as he barrels through, throwing whatever his hands can get a hold of. “He wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” and as the words leave his mouth, they only make it worse. He cries harder, hating himself for feeling weak and hating, even more, the darkness that he can feel surrounding his heart.

A lifetime without Louis.

Zayn had already gone twenty-two years alone, but the moment he had caught Louis’ scent, the  _exact second_  he knew that Louis existed, Zayn had finally known what it was to be a pack. He had never wanted anyone before and now he knew why, but what good does it do if his mate is dead?

“Dead,” he repeats to himself, hypnotized by the designs in the hardwood. He traces over them with one sharpened claw. “He’s dead.”

“Yes,” says Alice. “And I’m sorry, Zayn. But we—”

“No.” Standing by the bedside, he looks up at Clément, narrows his eyes. He demands, “You will heal him until it works. You will keep trying until you succeed.” Zayn watches as Clément’s eyes go fear-stricken, having realized that he can’t tell Zayn no. “You hear me?”

Clément nods.

“Do it.  _Now._ ” Zayn scoops Louis’ boneless hand into his own. It’s a sickening weight against his fingers. Louis’ skin is warm—almost hot, giving Zayn hope that he’s not too far gone.

He keeps a steady eye on Clément as he breathes deeply, letting his eyes roll shut. He begins to mumble words the Zayn doesn’t understand, and as he rubs his palms together, the blue light sparking between his fingers, Zayn’s heart begins to race.

Clément isn’t touching Louis, but instead keeping his hands elevated just above his torso. With one hand covering where Louis’ heart should be and the other pressed flat against Louis’ neck, he begins to shiver. Zayn can’t seem to take his eyes away from the light, his hands wrapped so tightly around Louis’ knuckles that he fears he may leave a hand print—but he can’t worry about that now. The light is turning white and Clément’s touching Louis now, the smell of fire filling the room.

Gasping, Clément pulls back, breaking contact and killing the light. His eyes are bewildered, his breathing uneven. Zayn almost snaps at him, to tell him that he isn’t finished, but before he has the opportunity to, Clément’s feeding the light into Louis’ chest once again. His hands are shaking far worse now, the skin across his knuckles pulled taut. He’s still chanting nonsense under his breath, his fingernails seeming to turn translucent. Zayn tightens his hold unbearably so on Louis’ hand, holding his boney fingers against his face to feel their warmth, wanting to pretend that Louis is alive and well; that he’s just sleeping. That’s all.

Zayn can’t stop the sobs that wrack his body.

“Make him stop,” Alice shouts, hysterically. She grabs at Zayn’s arm, shaking it wildly. “He can’t keep this up! You’ll kill him!”

He turns to her, feeling as if he could shoot fire from his eyes. “If you’re not going to help, then why are you in here?”

“It’s his life force. If he feeds it all into Louis, then what will he have?”

Looking to Clément, Zayn can see that blood is trickling from his ears, cascading down his neck and below his shirt. His eyes are still shut, blood beneath his nose, dripping down his mouth. His lips are pulled back as his fingers twitch and shake, the light growing brighter and brighter.

“If he dies,” she continues, “then where does that leave us?”

Gritting his teeth, Zayn whispers: “We’ll be even.”

A small twitch in his hand has Zayn’s blood running cold.

“Hey,” he whispers, running his hands up Louis’ arm, to his shoulders, his jaw. He cradles his head, pressing his forehead to Louis’ cheek.  _You can pull through_ , he shouts in his head, his eyes screwed shut.  _You can make it._ Another twitch. This one almost brings Louis’ whole arm off the bed, his fingers curling against the sheets.  _You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known_. Silent tears make their way out of his eyes and down his cheeks as Louis’ body begins to vibrate.

Clément shouts, his hands shaking violently against Louis’ chest. The skin between his eyebrows is pinched, his face pulled into a snarl. Alice is swearing now, standing behind Clément with a protective hand on his waist.

Zayn doesn’t care about the anger in the room, nor the pain and screams that Clément is now sounding off. He can only focus on the faint, slow beat beneath Louis’ skin, right below his jawbone.  _A pulse_ , he pleas. And it only becomes stronger as Zayn holds on tighter, his nails leaving marks across Louis’ skin.

What happens next, Zayn can’t quite register. A flash of white light and a soundless  _boom_  that he feels in his bones fills the room, and Clément’s thrown back into the wall, doubling over onto the floor. He’s howling in pain, holding his hands to his chest as Alice cradles him. But Louis…

Louis gasps in a mouthful of air, surging from the bed only to fall back onto it. His eyes are open and Zayn can see as his pupils dilate, the blue of his eyes radiating with life. It’s silent.

They can only stare at one another. Louis’ frightened, it’s written all over his face; confusion in his eyes, his mouth trembling. Zayn leans in, pressing his lips to Louis’ forehead, willing his tears to disappear. He doesn’t need to cry anymore.


	7. Epilogue

When Louis wakes to an empty room the following morning, he’s welcomed with sunlight that shines too brightly and a body that feels full of needles. His skin, beyond sensitive, hardly feels like his own as he throws his legs over the side of the bed and crawls to his feet. He’s wearing sweat pants he doesn’t remember putting on and a baseball tee that hangs loosely on his shoulders. His hair sticks up in every direction, and as he steps out into the hall, the air feeling like ice against his face, he finds that the world looks far different than it ever had before. The colors are more vibrant. The maroon rug he’s walked over every day now appears more purple, and he can smell the old oak in the floorboards, the scent of decay and age within the walls. The hallway is a dank, cold place he doesn’t like and as he rounds the spiral staircase, the railing feeling smooth against his palm, he can hear each step creak under his weight. It had been a silent descent before, but now it’s almost as if Louis is more aware of his own existence.

Voices seep through the walls as he nears the living room, they’re angry; intense.

“He needs to come with us,” Alice is saying. Louis can hear each click of her tongue, the sound of her swallowing around her words. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand alert, his skin starting to crawl. “He needs training, Zayn.”

“No.”

Louis’ ears perk, his throat feeling raw. Zayn’s voice sends shivers up his spine and he wants nothing more than to barrel through the kitchen and curl up into his side.

“He’s staying here with me.”

“Then you come, too,” Alice pleads. “You need to speak with the pack.”

“I’ll go when he’s ready.”

“And when will that be?” She sets something down on the table—a coffee mug, Louis thinks—and it echoes wildly in his ears. “How will you even know?”

“Are you suggesting that you’ll know before I do?” Zayn sounds furious, though he masks it well with a false calm. “There’s nothing you can teach him that I can’t do myself in the safety of this estate. Do you really think it’d be a good idea to throw him in with the other wolves, and what? Watch them tear him apart limb for limb because he’s a halfbreed?”

Louis’ heart jolts in his chest.

“You’re insane for thinking I’d let him out of my sight.”

Alice sighs irritably. Louis can practically see her eyes rolling. “You need to come, too. Do you not get that? They’ll wonder what happened and where Tobias has gone. They need to know!”

“I trust that you’ll tell them all they want to hear.”

“They need to know about him.”

“Not yet.”

“You can’t hide Louis forever.”

“It isn’t hiding,” Zayn growls. There’s the faint sound of nails scraping across wood. “The last thing he needs is unwanted attention. Do you know who will be attracted to something like this? I don’t want anyone to know until I’ve figured out what I’m going to do.”

“Do you even have the slightest idea of a plan?” Alice scoffs. “You can’t just wing it, Zayn.”

“We’re moving. That’s all I know, and all  _you_  need to know.”

“And what will I tell them back home? If I can’t tell them about Louis, then  _why_ on earth would you have done what you did?”

Louis flinches from her words. There’s a weight hanging in the air, the atmosphere changing. Zayn no longer sounds angry, but annoyed instead.

“I did what any one of them—what either one of  _you_  would have done. He was a shitty alpha and everyone knows that.”

A sharp intake of air; a quiet growl.

Alice shouts, “Do you not have an opinion on any of this?”

Silence. “It doesn’t matter,” Clément says, speaking through an accent hardly detected in Louis’ ears. “Louis is the alpha’s mate.”

“That’s right,” and Louis can hear the smile in Zayn’s voice. “Nothing is going to change that.”

The scraping of wood on wood as Alice throws her chair back. Her heels click loudly against the floor as she comes closer towards the living room. Louis can only stand in shock as she bursts through the doors, throwing them hard enough that they beat against the walls. Her eyes fall on Louis instantly, her mouth pinched tightly shut.

“Clément!” she calls, never dropping Louis’ gaze. She continues through the room until she’s only inches from Louis. She whispers, “Take care of yourself. If you think we’re the only creatures who will take interest in a halfbreed, you’re sadly mistaken.” She touches his shoulder, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry for what happened.” Then she’s heading for the front door and disappearing beyond it.

Louis watches her go, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Although he feels that she shouldn’t, Alice still scares the living hell out of him. And when he turns back towards the room to find Clément staring directly at him, so close their toes are nearly touching, Louis almost screams.

“Sir,” he says with a slight bow. “Stay safe.” He follows Alice’s lead and leaves without another word, shutting the door softly behind himself.

_Sir,_ he thinks, bewildered, his face scrunching up with distaste.

“Is the coast clear?” asks a familiar voice, and within an instant, Harry and Niall are piling through the doorway, coming from the back of the house. Harry crowds around Louis, hands on his shoulders, holding him in place. “How do you feel?” he asks, excitedly.

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_?” he scoffs. “Just fine? How can you…”

Harry keeps talking, but Louis isn’t paying him any mind. Zayn has appeared in the doorway now, and as he leans against the frame with his arms crossed and a small smile curling around his mouth, Louis thinks he’s going to explode. There’s warmth spreading through him, starting in his stomach and reaching his cheeks. His feet are moving without his realization and it isn’t until his hands are gripping the front of Zayn’s shirt, pulling him closer and clinging madly to him, that he honestly feels that he’s going to be okay. He doesn’t understand the sounds he hears or the scents he smells, but the one thing that he can make sense of is the warm body in his arms and the sound of the heart beat that syncs so perfectly with his own. The smell of firewood is prominent as he nestles his face into Zayn’s neck, and it’s heaven to him. It’s home.

“You’re sure you’re feeling alright?” Zayn asks softly.

“More than alright,” Louis replies, his mouth pressed to Zayn’s skin. “I feel a little weird, though.”

“How?”

He pulls back, making vague hand gestures that Zayn doesn’t seem to follow. “I just—I feel strange. Like, my skin hurts and my hands itch. My chest it’s—it’s all weird.”

Niall pops up at Louis’ side so suddenly he yelps. “I know a remedy for that.”

Liam comes through the dining hall then, his eyes set on Zayn. He reaches for him, pulling him aside, and Louis doesn’t know why his feet carry him to follow without his consent, or why he feels angry when Harry lays a hand on his shoulder and tells him to give Zayn a moment with Liam. The itch worsens as his fingers twitch, wanting to be near Zayn and wanting to hurt anyone who stops him.

Listening, Louis can hear Liam speak faintly from the other room, and his voice is gentle, his tone light.

“How’re you holding up?” he asks.

“Pretty well, I think.”

“I know you had a bad scare last night,” Liam inhales deeply. “But I want you to know that regardless of what Alice said, no one will come for Louis.”

“You really believe that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Liam laughs softly. “But if anyone comes looking for a fight, they’ll have to deal with the four of us and a new wolf. Just imagine him on his first full moon. He’ll rip anyone apart and not think anything of it. Who wants to mess with something like that?”

Louis’ stomach turns slowly, making his legs weak and his head hurt. He looks to Harry and whispers, “When’s the full moon?”

“Not for another week, don’t worry.” Harry winks. “We’ll get you taken care of by then.”

“Now,” Niall claps his hands together. “How about fixing that itch you’ve got.”

Louis follows them through the front door, passing the stone porch and heading over the hills. He can hear Liam still speaking, he and Zayn keeping close on their heels. Louis wonders if Zayn feels the pull that he felt, if that’s why he was unable to let Louis go all those times before.

The air smells of autumn and colored leaves; saccharine flowers and fresh grass. The sky is a blue so vibrant that Louis can hardly keep his eyes open. The world is different somehow, but still the same; as if it’s more alive, breathing deeply below his feet.

He hears Liam whisper, “I’m glad that a Malik is back on the throne,” and it makes him smile proudly. Facing Harry and Niall, he asks, “What are we doing?”

“We’re teaching you the ropes,” Niall says as he lifts his shirt over his head. “It’s hard at first, but then it’ll come in waves. You’ll feel it happen before it really does and when you come to, you’ll be done.”

Louis stares, confused. “What?” But then Harry’s taking his own clothes off and Liam’s running by without a shirt. It all hits him square in the face along with fear. “Wait, I don’t think I can do this!”

“You can,” Zayn says, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle. He rests his chin to Louis’ shoulder. “You’ll do fine.” He begins to pull at the hem of Louis’ shirt, working it off.

“Wait, wait!”

“You don’t want to ruin your clothes.”

“But—” he’s left there shirtless with the wind on his body, feeling like a complete idiot. “Can I keep the pants on at least?”

Zayn smiles, nods. “If you must.” He runs off, joining the others and stripping down to his boxers. He gives Louis a wink before taking off.

Louis’ too preoccupied with his nerves to watch as Zayn shifts, too worried that this is going to end badly. He stares down at his bare feet, feeling the grass between his toes. He wiggles them, sighing heavily. “Alright,” he whispers to himself. “Alright, just… _go_.” He stretches his arms out, flexes his fingers. Nothing happens. He does it again, widening his stance, not knowing how this works. He can feel their eyes on them, watching him; observing him. He hates it.

Once more, he flexes his hands and closes his eyes. Before he can stop himself, he’s going at a dead run, focusing on his body. His mind goes numb, his eyes roll in his head, and as his body begins to feel light, a sharp pain splices through his spine. Louis grinds his teeth, keeps running. He nearly tumbles down the hill when he loses his footing, but keeps pressing on and suddenly the world changes. He hears his bones cracking, feels them moving beneath his skin and it hurts. His chest constricts, his breath is shortened. His jaw begins to ache as teeth appear, far too big for his mouth. Fangs lengthen over his lower lip, his mouth stretching to accommodate them. Then he leaps off the ground, his joints twisting painfully, and there’s a moment when he thinks he’s going to be ripped apart. The pain is almost unbearable, but as he lands, the grass feeling softer, he finds that he’s on four feet rather than two. Stunned, he falls on his side with a loud  _thud_ , his vision bleary.

Looking through new eyes, he sees that the world is filled with muted blues and greens, mostly masked by black and white. Everything appears sharper. He can see the leaves blow in the wind from the tree tops and can hear the birds calling to one another from miles away. There’s a beetle in the grass a few feet from where he lies, and it scurries off, sensing the danger.

He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a whimper and a whine.

The soft  _pat-pat-pat_  of paws on the lawn. Louis looks up to find Zayn hovering over him, his fur dark, his eyes bright. He nuzzles into the side of Louis’ neck and it feels so strange but so calming that Louis has no other option than to lean into the touch, something like a growl vibrating in his throat.

Zayn sinks his teeth into the loose skin beneath Louis’ fur and he tugs. It doesn’t hurt but Louis still yelps, swiping a paw over Zayn’s face. He freezes, stares down at his feet. Four toes and a thumb that’s not quite a thumb. If he could, he’d be screaming.

Zayn’s voice echoes in his head as he crawls to his feet.  _Come on,_  he seems to say. The other three are playing in the clearing, tackling each other and biting at their ankles.

_Where are we going_ , Louis thinks, butting his head into Zayn’s side.

Zayn’s voice speaks again:  _Anywhere we want to_. Then he’s taking off and Louis’ following his lead, letting his mouth fall open, his tongue lopping out the side. He doesn’t know if Zayn can tell that he’s smiling, but he beams brightly as the wind blows, sending ripples through his fur.

It’s wonderful, he thinks as he stretches his muscles, feeling the pull in his limbs. He’s finally free, happiness overtaking and replacing all the horrors he’s seen. He has Zayn by his side and a pack to call a family. And for once, Louis knows he’s no longer alone. And he never will be. Not ever again.


End file.
